Her Wicked Ways
by Andrea Sinisterra
Summary: AU, 3xR. Relena has always been a successful, independent woman. But when she finds out her mother is trying to set her up with her partner's sexy, green eyed son, chaos ensues. Engaged to be married? Blasphemy!
1. The Ice Queen

**Her Wicked Ways **  
By Andrea Sinisterra  
Romance  
Rated PG-13 to NC-17  
_Standard Disclaimers Apply_

**  
Author's Note:** First timer! laughs My very first non-cannon story! I was a little apprehensive because I've never written something like this, but I like how it's going. This is a Trowa/Relena centric, written from the latter's perspective. I tried to keep it as truthful and realistic as possible, trying to sort out her thoughts and dilemmas in a normal, simple way. It was a little difficult because it's tough keeping MY thinking M.O. out of the way and trying to make her seem original, so I hope you like this… Trowa, what can I say; I'm in love.

**Warnings:** Out-of-character-ness on Relena's part; I had to keep her true to the story, and her real personality just didn't quite fit. But she's still a tough woman! Some business-related mumbo-jumbo, but that, you can skip, it doesn't alter the plot. What else… Oh, and well, the lemon of course. It IS rated NC-17 for good reason. Not that you are complaining. But that will come in later chapters. For now, it will just be PG-13. "

**Special thanks:** To Lauren for her incomparable help and input. Thanks for your advice and for detecting the several errors within this… Thanks hon, you're mah favorite slut! laughs! People are going to flame me for that, I know.

Thank you to Melodrama and Gundam Girl for proofreading this for me. You girls are the best and I wouldn't trade you for anything. I need to go buy more chocolate… and SUGAR-FREE Jolly Ranchers for Mel. Mel, I hope you're taking things slowly!

Also, thank you to Jess, for helping me focus and for allowing me to babble my heart out. I needed that!

* * *

**Part 1**

"Where're you going, sexy legs?"

If only men knew how utterly unappealing it was for a woman to be called that. Or anything of the nature.

I ran my hands through my tangled hair, trying to keep the rebellious strands out of my face. They were annoying as they tickled my cheeks and forehead, and I wanted to yank them out or cut them off so they would stop bothering me. I slipped my underwear on automatically, reaching for the rest of my clothing which had been tossed carelessly about the room. His were also strewn everywhere: over chairs, under the bed, I could even make out one sock lying remorselessly on the bedside table.

I felt slick arms grab me around the waist from behind, a moment before I felt his breath on my neck. He trailed his tongue along my left shoulder then up to suck my neck, like a hungry vampire.

"When can I see you again? I want to make a repeat of tonight…"

I bit my tongue to keep myself from snorting at his satisfied tone. His proposal made me shiver, and believe me, it wasn't in anticipation. I slowly extricated myself from him, grabbing and slipping on my black lace brassiere which I found over the armrest of a chair. "I'm sorry, 'love'." Though my tone was biting, to my dismay I found it was also breathless, and why wouldn't it be when I had to almost drag myself under the bed for one of my shoes? "But I'm busy. I'll call you."

I didn't wait for his answer as I made my way to the front door, keeping my eyes straight ahead. I grabbed my purse which I had left on the small table at the foyer and quickly withdrew my car keys.

"Don't you need my phone number?"

I glanced over my shoulder and saw him standing at the top of the stairs, a dark sheet wrapped around his naked hips. He was handsome; dark eyes, tan skin, ash blond hair… with the sculpted body of a demigod. And a great lay.

I blew him a kiss, smiling as I slowly turned the doorknob. "No, thanks. But, it was fun."

* * *

Of course it was fun. It always was. What was wrong with having a little fun now and then? Why do people think that men are the only ones allowed to indulge in some sinful, uninhibited, free sex? Why was it okay for them to practice it casually and not women? It was such a stereotyped hypothesis. And I know this all makes me sound like a deranged feminist, but it's the whole truth. 

And this was the same thing I told the woman in front of me.

She nodded in that slow, understanding way of hers that made me want to grit my teeth and yank my hair out in frustration. She scribbled something in the legal pad on her lap, uncrossing her pantyhose encased legs in a very lazy manner.

I swear… The things I wouldn't give to know how to read body language.

I moved to a more comfortable position, the motion making the leather cushions hiss out in protest. How could someone be comfortable when they had to lie on these sofas and be under constant scrutiny?

"So, tell me Relena; do you feel you need to prove something?"

I couldn't help as I frowned—the tension sipping into my forehead—at her question. "Prove something?"

She nodded, glancing at me over the silver wire of her glasses.

I shrugged. "In what sense?"

"You tell me."

This time I couldn't help myself as I gritted my teeth, my hands forming fists. "I don't have to tell you anything."

She scribbled again. "Where does all this anger come from?"

From the fact that you are driving me nuts!

I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, urging the tension to leave my shoulders. "I just get easily frustrated. I apologize for being rude. I guess I came here predisposed on disliking you." I took another breath and let it out just as slowly. "I don't feel I need to prove anything to anyone. It's just the way I am."

She wrote something else. I wonder what she wrote. What were her perceptions of me?

"That's okay. A person's first instinct when they sit there is resentment. Don't' worry about it. Why are you here?"

"Well, Dr. Monahan," I smiled charmingly. "That's just the thing: I don't know why exactly I'm here. It was suggested I take Anger Management courses, but I refused, of course."

"Anger Management? I see."

_"You need to relax, Relena. Take things slowly. The world isn't coming to an end, you know?"_

I willed my jaw to relax. "Yes. So, we reached a compromise by requiring me to attend a few therapy sessions. They said I needed to…take things more calmly."

She nodded slowly, her eyes looking straight into mine. You see, I've never been intimidated before. I've always prided myself in my excellent social skills and killer glares, which were indispensable when it came to business. It pleased me when I saw her fidget for a minute and then lower her eyes to her lap, presumably to pretend she was reading what she had scribbled on that notepad of hers.

"Care to enlighten me on that? Why do 'they' think you need to 'take things more calmly'?

I sighed. And God, did I know they were right. I almost laughed out loud. "It's just the way I am. You see, I work at a financial consulting firm and it's a very strenuous job. I guess it all comes from being pulled in too many directions." I sighed, trying to gather my thoughts and put them in a more coherent order. "I'm the youngest of all the senior partners; and by youngest, I mean the one who precedes me is 52."

Her brows rose on her forehead, and she nodded her head at me. "That's quite an accomplishment, Relena."

"Thank you. But it also comes with a lot of stress. Plus, I'm the only female, so there's always the fear of sexual harassment and things of the sort."

"I understand."

Did she really? "Anyway, I'm in charge of oversea affairs. Basically, the whole international purse is under my charge. I have goals set yearly, and I have to meet that budget one way or another or it's my neck on the line. We're talking of billions of dollars in just overseas billing." I sighed. "What I do is travel around the world to meet or acquire new clients and bring them to us, convincing them to invest in new local businesses as long as we manage their finances. It's a very bold move, but by working this way, we also get the help from the government since we are helping them by incrementing the local tourism. Of course, our benefits and fees are good and low compared to other companies… But I'm not selling anything to you, so why bother?"

The woman laughed, apparently taken by surprise. She shook her head while she jotted something else down. Then she frowned. "Do you fly alone?"

"Usually, I take my assistant and bodyguard with me."

She wrote down something else. "Have you ever had any divergences on these trips?"

I smiled ruefully. "There's always the perverted, depraved old man; the arrogant, snotty business woman and sometimes, the overconfident CEO who thinks he can have anything with the snap of his fingers."

She nodded. "Further problems?"

"What; like sexual harassment?"

"Yes. Or any other problems of the sort?"

"Well, let me put it this way: I sometimes have to use my feminine wiles to get the account."

She nodded as she took another note on her legal pad. "So, you use sex as a tactic to get your clients?"

"It's not like I use sex, per se."

"Could you explain yourself?"

I crossed my legs as I thought about it. How low it sounded when you talked about it out loud. "I've learned that men, especially businessmen, think that they can sleep with whomever they want, especially when they know they have the upper hand. And I mean, it's true; they know they have something I need—something I want. And they have no qualms in making me fret over it. Sure, I flirt and dress sexy; there's nothing wrong in using 'sex' to get business going."

The woman nodded again, painstakingly slow. "And do you think this is right?"

I snorted, and I couldn't have stopped myself even if I had wanted to. "It doesn't matter if I think it's right or wrong, Dr. Monahan. Business is business. And no one said business is 'right' or, for that matter, plays fair. You'll do and say anything to get people to buy you. That's how the world works; as cruel and deceiving as it sounds, that's what makes the wheels turn."

"I understand."

"Do you really?"

She looked at me with a small frown on her face. I knew she had not expected me to retaliate with a question of my own. Especially since it was me, the one sitting on the sofa, and not her. Let the woman fuss about it for a minute.

"I do understand." She took her glasses off and let them rest over her yellow-paged pad. "Unfortunately, we all live under ideal pretenses, Relena. We all need things to work by the book—"

"But sometimes, most of the time, it's impossible."

"I know. But as your psychologist, it's my job to make you understand that there are other ways of doing things."

"The ideal way. I know. Believe me, I do. But there's nothing I can really do about it."

She nodded again. I was starting to like this Wilhelmina Monahan.

* * *

**  
December 24th, 2005**  
_Over the Pacific Ocean, 2217 hours._

"Mother, really. How many times have we gone over this?" A moment of silence passed where she didn't utter a single word. "Countless."

She sighed and I could just see her roll her eyes at me. "It's Christmas Eve, Relena; you're supposed to be here with your family and not on some escapade around the globe."

I smiled as the faint lights of South Africa appeared through the fog. "It's business. Mother, you of all people should understand how it's like." My mother, Ericka Donovan Peacecraft was a retired attorney. She had been, like I am now, the youngest member of the firm's partnership and had never, in her career of 29 years, ever lost a case. I suppose it comes with the genes.

My mother had waited until she was past her mid thirties to get married and settle down; it was the reason why she was almost 62 and I merely 24 years old. I was her only daughter… I suppose that it was because of this that in her old age she had been pestering me about family values and settling down. She sees her life as a sort of mistake; she claims she wasted the time she could've used to have more kids and such on work.

What was wrong with a little ambition?

She met my father when she was 29 years old and he, 32. They waited 7 years to get married, and another year to have me. They were both at the top of their careers; he being a successful and highly coveted neurosurgeon with a specialty in neonatal surgery; and she, the youngest senior partner in all of the law firms in Boston. They were the most envied couple in all of old Manhattan, Boston and Washington–the wealthiest neighborhoods on the East Coast.

Ericka Peacecraft is the most goal-oriented, greedy, single-minded person I've ever had the pleasure to know, and I am proud to be able to call her mother. Which is why her bugging me to settle down—a recent thing—was starting to grate on my nerves.

"Darling, I don't want you to lead the life I led back then. It's a very bitter way of living; you have no idea the things I missed out on when I was younger, things I wish I could get back to. I don't want you to miss out on life."

"Mother, what are you talking about?" I asked, a little exasperated. "You did get to do everything, just a little later than everyone else. You fell in love, you had kids—"

"I didn't fall in love, Relena, and neither did I have kids."

I frowned at her words; she wasn't making any sense. I shook my head. "Mother, please. So, yes, you only had me; what's this about not falling in love? Didn't you love Dad when you married him?"

Hey, remember when I said I understood how this wasn't an ideal world? "Honey, sometimes we get things in different shades of pink. What your father and I had was a mere agreement—a contract. You're big enough to understand how these things work. We cared deeply for each other, or else we wouldn't have agreed to anything at all. We just didn't want to waste our time looking around when we connected so wonderfully. I won't lie to you, though: along the years we came to respect and care for each other deeper than at first… so, yes, in a way we did learn to love each other."

I look entranced as the dark, heavy clouds bypassed us; the lit up horizon now a flaming canvas. "I see." I could hear my mother's heavy breathing on the other end of the line, and for a moment I wondered if she was crying. "Mother. Mom—I don't understand what you want from me. Do you want me to quit? Do you want me to date? What?"

She laughed softly, and my heart melted a little when I heard her sniff delicately. "It's your life, Relena. I just miss my daughter."

I sighed. "Let's do something, Mother. I promise I'll straighten my act. Who knows, maybe next time I see you I'll bring someone else with me."

My mother laughed again, this time a little louder. I smiled. "Don't get my hopes up for nothing, Relena!" she chided.

I laughed at her words. "I won't, Mother."

"Oh, you know, speaking of which; the other day I was having lunch with Sally and her new baby—what a beautiful kid!—and you're not going to believe who I saw sitting a few tables away!" She didn't wait for my reply as she gushed out excitedly. "Tristan's son. What was his name, again?"

I shook my head derisively, amused at my mother's tactics. "Trowa, Mother. And I know where this is going!"

There was a loud, outraged mock-gasp before she replied, half reproaching, and half laughing. "Sweetie, I'm disappointed in you! Why didn't you tell me he was so handsome? But that woman he was with," she chucked her tongue in disapproval, and I knew she had to be shaking her head. "He could do so much better. I'm very interested—"

"Mother, no! Absolutely no! He's the son of one of my colleagues, and a strong candidate for a senior partnership. I will not jeopardize my job or my reputation by going out with him!"

She sighed, but I knew she wanted to fight this issue. I swear, my Mother sometimes…

"Think about it, Relena! He's handsome, he comes from a very respectable family, you have many things in common, and he's very well-off."

I rubbed circles on the knot between my eyebrows, trying to soothe the tension away. I knew her, and I knew she wasn't going to let this drop unless I consented to going out with him on at least one date. "Well, that's not good enough for me, Mother, and I certainly, certainly, don't need his money. Nor his name. So, Mom, please, I don't want you to do anything—anything!" I stressed out, "—about this, okay?"

Three, two, one… "Won't you at least give it a chance? Come on, honey, just one date, _one_ date and I won't bother you about it anymore—"

"—Until you find someone else 'adequate' for me." I swear I only get this stressed out when I talk with my mother. As intelligent and highly witty and entertaining as she is, she has a way of getting on my nerves so bad that I always—always—find myself agreeing to whatever it is she wants. A clever, sharp woman she is, and this is why I've never doubted all the stories I've been told about her back in the day when she was still at the top of the world. I sighed. "Alright. But one date and that's it."

"Then don't bring anyone home for New Year's; I already arranged with Tristan and that wonderful wife of his, Kara, to spend the holiday at our house in Martha's Vineyard. It should be fun."

"Yes, I bet. Mother, you truly are something, you know that? But I have to go now; we're landing in a few minutes."

"Call me to confirm, sweetie. I love you; take care."

"Yeah, you, too, Mother."

* * *

So, that only left me six days 'til New Year's Eve. Less than a week to get used to the fact that I was going to be seeing Tristan Barton and his family soon to spend New Year's, no less, at our house. The troubles I go through to please my mother. Didn't she understand I wasn't really ready for the whole 'settling down' issue? No, I agreed to this whole charade of hers, but I wasn't going to let her manipulate my love life… Well, not that I've ever been in love… But that wasn't her problem! 

Again, what is wrong with being a little ambitious? Is it wrong to desire independence? Is it wrong of me to want to be self-sufficient? And can she really blame me, or criticize my lifestyle? I blame her! It's because of her I'm the way I am!

I never said I was going to get married!

My rambling was interrupted by a low, pleased 'hum' before me, and I raised an annoyed glare to my business associate, Dorothy Catalonia, who was busy trying to look over my shoulder at God knows what or who. And knowing Dorothy, the subject at hand was bound to be an amazingly handsome, daringly fine-looking, strikingly beautiful, remorselessly attractive male specimen.

There had always been an open, unguarded, not-so-honest rivalry between the two of us, ever since the time we were hired by Barton/Wales/Burnham—and now Peacecraft, I added to my profound satisfaction. Of course, our mutual hatred had only been fed further when I was offered Seniority and she was to remain stuck in her small, small office until—and if—they decided to vote for someone else. Well… Not 'they', but if _we_ decided to vote for someone else.

And her hoping to become a Senior Partner was just that—wishful thinking, since the next candidate for the position looked very promising… After all, he was just the only son of the firm's eldest member and founder, Tristan Barton.

"Now, Relena… Why didn't you tell me this Quatre Raberba Winner was going to be so despairingly handsome? This great avarice of yours will kill you one of these days." Her tone was admonishing, but the effect was brutally lessened by the fact that her eyes were still focused somewhere over my shoulder. I almost had to bite my tongue to keep from snapping at her.

She really gets under my skin.

We were standing in the small lobby of one of Cape Town's most expensive, high-profile restaurants. It's ironic how the majority of the most famous, expensive restaurants around the world are so small. Talk about exclusivity.

"I apologize for making you wait." His smooth voice floated over the din of the people as I turned around to welcome one of our largest clients. "Relena, it's always a pleasure to see you." He reached for my hand and softly caressed his lips over my knuckles. "You look as stunning as ever."

My smile was wide as I saw him straighten up. He was still as handsome as the day I met him, two years ago. Tall and lean, but you could still distinct the play of sinewy muscles under the soft fabric of his shirt. White skin under always flushed, chiseled cheeks; with a mop of longish, straight blond hair always tidied up to perfection, and eyes with the most unusual color that made you wonder if they were dark blue, or deep, sea green.

I moved aside to let Dorothy step forward. "You know the pleasure is all mine. Mr. Winner, meet one of our associates, Dorothy Catalonia; she will be the one in charge of handling your affairs from now on."

"A pleasure, Ms. Catalonia." He said as he also bent over to kiss the back of her hand.

Dorothy smiled as she withdrew her hand back. "So chivalrous. And please, call me 'Dorothy'."

I had the imperative urge to roll my eyes and slap her silly. She was so obvious.

"Do you have a reservation?" The hostess asked lightly, smiling at us.

She propelled me into action; I can't believe I had been standing there, uselessly, thinking about Mr. Winner's good looks. "Oh, yes. Relena Peacecraft."

We were promptly led to a table by the maître d', as he helped Dorothy into her chair, and Mr. Winner did the same with me.

Business was settled down even before the main course was brought to the table, with Mr. Winner agreeing in letting us accompany some of his men to survey a location where he planned on building a five-star, small, luxury hotel, exclusive for businesspeople right down in Port Elizabeth. The idea in itself was extraordinary, and I knew that with Mr. Winner, the hotel could—and would—be built and finished in less than a year.

And that is one of the reasons why I loved doing business with him; if anything, he's reliable and ambitious, two traits I admire.

The talk was easy and light-hearted as we nursed our coffees, and by the time the bill was brought by a beaming waitress whose eyes lingered on Mr. Winner for far more than was appropriate, we had consumed over $400.00.

"Relena?" Dorothy had leaned over to whisper in my ear as Mr. Winner was busy attending an urgent business call on his cell-phone. "What's this? ZAR 2,963.43?"

I leaned over the bill check she held in her hand and simply shrugged at it. "That's the local currency. Just pay with your Visa, it really doesn't matter either way."

She shrugged as well as she reached for her wallet to take out her corporate Visa. "I sure hope their currency is a very weak one." She muttered under her breath as the waitress took the leather bound pocket booklet and Dorothy's Visa with her.

"Is there a problem?" Mr. Winner's voice was concerned as he peered at us, slipping his cell-phone back into his suit's inner pocket.

Dorothy smiled charmingly at him, shaking her head. "No. I was just wondering what the currency exchange rate is."

Mr. Winner laughed, shaking his head as he withdrew a small device from one of his suit's pockets. "When I first got here, I was amazed by the differences, as well. These things come in handy when you're in a country like South Africa." He said as he showed us his currency converter. "One American dollar equals… 6.054 South African Rands."

I smiled, and couldn't help myself as I shook my head at this. Imagine the profit margin of this new development by Winner Ltd. For every ZAR 6 he spent, he was saving $5, or so to speak. The costs had to be incredibly low due to the economic decline of countries such as this. "You sure do your homework, Mr. Winner."

His smile was disarmingly sexy as he put his elbows on the table and leaned forward a bit, the light dancing in his clear eyes. "Relena, how long have we known each other? I think it's been two years already… When are you going to start calling me 'Quatre'?"

I could see Dorothy's eyes narrow from the corner of my vision, but I simply ignored her. Either way, the waitress had come back with the receipt and Dorothy was busy signing the slip. "Formalities are my rule #1 in business negotiations, Mr. Winner. You know that."

He made a low humming sound as he nodded once; his elbows slipping from the table as he leaned back in his chair. "I can accept that. After all, you've always been very thorough, Relena." His face scrunched up in a boyish grin. "So, that's a definite 'no'?"

I gathered the files and my briefcase lying on the empty chair beside me. "An infallible 'no'"

He laughed, and the sound was so spontaneous, it attracted many interested eyes from the diners around us. "Lady, you sure don't beat about the bush."

"Have you ever known me to be ambiguous, Mr. Winner?"

He rose to his feet and walked behind Dorothy's chair to help her, and then made his way to do the same for mine. Such a gentleman.

"I can't say I have."

* * *

We were staying at the Cape Grace, this beautiful hotel overlooking the yacht marina and the Table Mountain… and I dreaded the moment Dorothy would find out about our sleeping arrangements. 

We rode in silence in the black stretch limousine the hotel manager kindly offered, a thoughtful courtesy.

I ignored the woman beside me, focusing once again on the scattered files in my lap, and checking any pending appointments I had on my Palm. I could practically see the steam coming out from her ears as she quietly seethed for reasons I didn't really know, or even cared about. I was starting to think letting Dorothy scout the Winner account was a major mistake. She couldn't let herself be biased by anything. We needed someone cold-hearted, ruthless for this job, and if she was going to let petty feelings over something as insignificant as a unreciprocated attraction predispose her thinking and decision making, then she had to be replaced.

Having any sort of feelings towards a client or anything related to an account was a risk, and right now, she is rapidly turning into a liability that had to be disposed of.

We slowly made our way across the lobby and into the elevator, hitting the button to my floor. "Come to my room, we have business to discuss."

She crossed her arms defiantly over her chest, turning her head to regard me silently before she spoke. "Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"No." The elevator chime announced our arrival, and I stepped into the plush flooring as I reached into my purse for my card key. I opened the door to my suite without any problems and walked into my room, the lights automatically turning on as our presence was picked by the sensors. I walked to the end of the room to the double-glazed French doors that led to the terrace, taking out my pack of cigarettes from my purse and lighting one, peering at Dorothy through the glass.

She stood in the space between the dining table and the living room, a dazed expression on her face, before she snapped back into action and stomped her way outside.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

I narrowed my eyes at her frosty tone. "I just wanted to warn you."

Her light-blue eyes turned to ice as she narrowed them, glaring at me. "Warn me?"

"Yes. If you do anything to jeopardize this contract, or endanger our dealings with Winner, prepare yourself for one major lawsuit, Ms. Catalonia. I hope you're aware of how important Winner Ltd is; I know Michael assigned you to this; he trusts in your professional capabilities, and I don't question his judgment, but this is my account. You're just a scout. I consented in taking you in and bringing you here to meet Mr. Winner; but just as easily, I can kick you off it, and do this by myself as I've always done."

Her glare had only intensified, and she fisted her hands so tight I was afraid she would sprain something. "Mr. Burnham will not let you—"

I laughed; this girl, truly, was something. "I couldn't care less what Michael Burnham does or doesn't do. You should probably scout one of his accounts if you believe in him so much." I took a drag on my rapidly burning out cigarette, letting the smoke out in a dark stream.

"What? You feel threatened?" She sneered, venom spilling from her tongue. "How long have you been fucking Quatre?"

I stared at her for a moment or two, letting her words sink in before I started laughing so hard I thought I would pull something. "Oh, Dorothy, Dorothy, Dorothy… You flatter me. I know Mr. Winner has some ulterior motives; I'm aware of every word, every look, every movement he makes that can be interpreted as inappropriate."

She looked perplexed for a moment, before she frowned. "Why do you lead him on?"

I shrugged as I pulled out another cigarette and offered her one. "I can't just put him off… It could endanger our negotiations. And Mr. Winner is our most influential client." I sighed, rubbing the space between my eyebrows. "Listen, Dorothy, I know we've never gotten along; I don't like you, and I know you don't like me. At least, we've always been honest about our feelings for each other. But I can't let you ruin this deal for me. I need to know you will take this seriously, with all the formalities it needs. I think it's great Michael trusts you enough to ask me to give you this assignment, it's an asset for when the board meets again… But this is my account, my baby. It's the biggest one we have, and it's all mine. I can't let something as insignificant as this hatred between us—or your attraction to Mr. Winner—endanger it."

She sat there on one of the heavy, gray iron chairs, silent, as if contemplating my words. "I realize what you say, Relena, and I'm aware of all this. I'm sorry I was so hasty in judging you. You don't have to worry about it; sure, I think he's very hot, I'm sure you think so too, but I'm not going to do anything to risk this deal. This is a big step for me, and I would kill myself if I do anything to jeopardize my future in the company." She took a drag on her cigarette, letting out the smoke slowly. "How did you get him?"

I shrugged; the story wasn't really that interesting. "I went to boarding school with four of his sisters; his family and my family have always been close friends, though I never really met Quatre. When I found out his parents passed away after that accident and the company was passed down to him, I knew it was my chance to go in for the kill." I sat down on a chair, crossing my legs. "It took me some doing to get an appointment; since it was still really hectic with him getting used to his new position, he never really had time to spare. But I finally got to meet him. I knew he was attracted to me; as you already saw, he's kind of obvious. I don't think he cares what people think of him. You know, at that time I was still just a regular associate… But I got him to consent to give me access to a small hotel he was remodeling, and well… the rest is history. I think one of the major advantages I had was that we became friends. He trusted me, that's why he refused to let anyone else handle his affairs."

"…That's the reason why they made you a partner."

Her tone held no menace; it was just an innocent inquiry. I was amazed we were having a normal conversation, without the pressure of confrontation. This was a side of Dorothy Catalonia I had never seen. "I imagine. Quatre didn't want Tristan, Michael or Roderick handling his accounts, so that left them with two choices…"

"…Losing the account or promoting you."

I nodded. It wasn't rocket science. That's how businesses like this work; influence. Prestige. No associate can handle accounts, only partners could. Associates could only scout and analyze… Basically, associates do all the work, and the partners get all the credit. A system I've never followed; I've always taken care of Winner Ltd and no one but me has access to it. Until now. "Simple, huh?"

"Yeah…" Her voice was faint, and after a few minutes of a very comfortable silence, she spoke again, indignation clear in her voice. "Why is your room so much bigger than mine?"

* * *

**  
December 30th, 2005**

We headed to Cape Town International Airport at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m., ready to board our jet back to America. The week had gone by fast; we had a meeting with Mr. Winner and his lawyers so they could go over the contract that gave us access to the new hotel's administration, allowing us to partially run the business by granting us supervision of every decision they make regarding its management.

Mr. Winner hadn't even let his lawyer finish reading through the contract when he was already uncapping his pen and signing his name across the dotted line, officially closing the deal.

I felt more at ease now that I had finally gotten around talking to Dorothy about this, since she had to take care of this new project. Mr. Winner had been a little hesitant in letting someone else take care of his affairs, but I reassured him Dorothy would only be watching that everything progressed as it should, reporting back to me. She would have no choice whatsoever over the finances and marketing strategies of this new hotel—this had put him at ease.

The supervision of the construction sight had gone by without any anomalies; the hotel's location was ideal, just as Port Elizabeth. The engineer and architect in charge of the project had detailed every single aspect of the blueprints, while Mr. Winner fired ideas, seemingly, off the top of his head, regarding how he wanted to target his market and promote his new project.

I had let Dorothy take charge, since it was really her job now, to see everything flow without a glitch. She was proficient and callous as she inquired about this and that, small bits and pieces that got her attention. Seeing her with her small notebook, taking notes of whatever she thought needed attention, made me think of Dr. Monahan scribbling nonsense on her yellow-paged legal pad. I planned on seeing her again; it was alleviating to be able to talk to someone who wouldn't judge or question me. If anything, that woman was a good listener.

Now, all my concerns were centered on the fact that we were now on our way back to New York, a day from New Year's Eve and from enduring an entire weekend of torturous prodding and 'subtleties' from my mother.

And it's not that I've never considered Trowa as attractive; a woman would have to be blind not to notice him… I just had this feeling that getting involved with Trowa would be dangerous; and not just professionally-wise, but on an emotional level, too. I've known him for five years now, and I've always gotten the allusion of him being too deep, too intense… I could easily get way over my head without noticing it. He was that passionate.

And he was also a prime-time player. Not that I wasn't one, either, but I couldn't let my mother drag me into a relationship based on lies and deceit. Marriage was one big part of the little idealism I still believed in. And I don't mean Prince Charming—he could kiss my ass. I mean that desire every woman, young and old, has of living the life of a cheesy, romance novel protagonist. We all have idyllic dreams and hopes; I suppose we should feel happy with what we can get.

My mother… I wonder how my father could have put up with such a thick-headed woman. I always thought my parents had had that sort of fairy tale; I always thought they had agreed to wait for the sake of their careers—I mean, who would wait for someone for 7 years? Unless you really loved them, then it would seem a little crazy. I guess I _have_ been too idealistic after all. Impractical me.

I curse my mother for making me think all this! I had been fine; now I feel like all this pressure has been put on my shoulders. Who says I need to settle down? And why should I settle down? It's one thing to date periodically, maybe even in a very platonic level—but to date someone so seriously, you're considering marrying them? Unheard of! At least to me, that is.

All this thinking was starting to give me a migraine. I lay back on my chair, trying to focus on the scenery outside my window. I had so much running through my head, I thought it would explode. My eyes felt droopy, and I reached a hand to drag over my face, trying to wake myself up. The ocean seemed so dark, mysterious and infinite. The Pacific Ocean's dimension is greater than all the lands in the world put together… We should drop Dorothy right here. And maybe even Trowa; they would never find them. Fewer things in my list that I have to worry over… Quatre, my mother, dating, marriage, Plato, careers… Prince Charming… cheesy… romance… novels…

I was roused from my sleep an unknown time later—it was already nightfall—by a gentle prodding on my arm, and I had to blink my eyes several times to bring focus back to my vision. The single flight attendant's face was apologetic as he looked down at me, telling me to get ready for landing. I swiftly buckled my seatbelt, bringing my seat back to its original position as I saw the runway come closer and closer through the glass panel of my window… Bringing me closer to home and my mother… and to Trowa Barton.

* * *

_  
To be continued..._

AN: I hope you liked this! This was just a big introduction to the story. I'm already halfway through chapter four, so the wait won't be long between updates. Please review, I'd like to know what you think.

Hugs!


	2. The Snob Menace

**Her Wicked Ways**  
By Andrea Sinisterra  
Romance  
Rated PG-13  
_Standard Disclaimers Apply_

**Author's Note:** Yay! Was it quick or what!

**Warnings:** None! I think there's some cussing around this chappie... can't recall.

**Special thanks:** To GG! For beta-reading this for me!

* * *

**Part 2**

My mother had sent a helicopter to come pick me up and take me to Martha's Vineyard, I believe so she could make sure I didn't bail out on her. I never did call her to confirm my assistance, subconsciously I had hoped she would somehow forget or get the hint and let me be. It was all just wishful thinking on my part, apparently. My mother never did know how to take 'no' for an answer.

It was almost midnight when I finally made it to Edgartown; a driver had been assigned to come pick me up at the heliport to take me to our house which was 15 to 25 minutes away. Despite the hour, the house still had all the lights on, and I dreaded the moment I would step inside, knowing full well I would be bombarded with questions by my mother. She would want to know how my trip went, why it had taken so long, and ultimately, why I hadn't called to confirm.

I dreaded every single second I would spend in that house even as the sleek Mercedes Benz made its way down the long driveway beyond the sky-high iron gates and fence that surrounded the property. I could already make out Pagan, our long-time butler, waiting at the steps, ready to greet me and take care of my luggage. He was a dear man, gentle and very warm. He's been working for my mother since before I was born; every single childhood memory I have, he's been part of it, one way or another. He was like a second father to me, and I could almost say, he always appreciated me more than my own father. Not that my father didn't love me, but he was that kind of person who's emotionally calm and cool, always collected, even with his own daughter. He never played with me, or got involved in my things… Pagan did that for me, and much more.

Which was why as soon as the car stopped, I was out like a dash, flinging my arms around his neck, letting his warm laughter envelop me. He held me tight, kissing my forehead; I felt his warm hands cradle my cheeks, as his eyes watered.

"My child, it's so good to see you again. We missed you for Christmas." His voice had that wavering which comes with age. He ushered me inside the house, the foyer's soft lights bathing us in warmth.

"It's good to be home." I hugged him again, kissing his cheek as I leaned closer to whisper in his ear. "Who's here?"

He chuckled, shaking his head in mock-chiding. "Miss Relena, your mother has been waiting for you all day. Although, she's been quite busy entertaining our guests."

"Guests?" Why was I playing dumb? This was Pagan! But then again, he hated it when I acted uncivil. He was very well-mannered, and had gone beyond his limits to teach me everything he knew—which included being a refined, courteous hostess.

"Well, Mr. Barton and his family will be spending the holiday with us. They'll be staying the entire weekend and will be returning to the mainland on Sunday morning." He started guiding me to the huge, charcoal staircase beyond the humongous Christmas tree my mother insisted on putting in the middle of the grand foyer; Vigo, the chauffeur, carrying my single suitcase. "Everyone has retired for the night, and I think you should do the same, it's very late."

I didn't question why he was still up, since I knew he would tell me he couldn't go to sleep knowing I was coming.

"Have you eaten? I can prepare something light and bring it up to your room."

"No, Pagan, that's alright; I'm not hungry. And if I get hungry, I know where the kitchen is. Go to bed, I know you must be tired. Vigo can help me with my suitcases."

He was already shaking his head. "I'd rather—"

"Pagan, go to bed." I stressed out my command. He smiled, and the motion crinkled the skin around his eyes and mouth in a very endearing manner. "Goodnight, friend. Tomorrow you'll get to assail me with every question you have… and I know you'll have quite a few!" After my mother is done with me, that is.

He laughed. "Very well. Goodnight, my child. Rest well and I will see you tomorrow." He bowed his head lightly before turning around and going to his rooms.

* * *

I had tossed and turned over and over, endlessly all night, turning my bed into an unrecognizable pile of sheets and pillows, when I finally decided to take a shower and get dressed—at 6 a.m. I was hungry since I didn't really had any dinner last night; my bones hurt from trying too many sleeping positions, and I could see on the mirror, my eyes were bloodshot.

I applied my makeup; something light since I was wearing a floral skirt and a pink strapless top. The morning birds had started to sing a few minutes ago, but the day was still partially dark since the night fog had still not dissipated.

I grabbed my cell-phone from the nightstand and made my way to the kitchen; I could already hear the noises coming from everywhere as the house started getting ready for the new day: New Year's Eve. There were freesia, mistletoe and Christmas flowers' garlands around everything, hung over every single doorframe one could think of.

I flinched when my white flip flops snapped loudly against the marble stairs—I was afraid I would wake someone, and even more afraid that someone would happen to be my mother. I took off my shoes, and continued my way down the stairs on bare feet, putting them on again when I made it to the ground floor. I was surprised, although I knew I shouldn't have been, when I entered the kitchen and saw Trowa Barton munching on a sandwich.

I could only see his profile as he leaned over the morning paper, his light reddish-brown bangs hanging over his forehead, and I found it amusing seeing him trying to keep them out of his face, since apparently, they didn't let him read properly. He was very tall, he's always been, and muscular, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. He was perfect, and the most annoying thing was that he was very aware of it and wasn't shy about it. He was charismatic and charming, his deep green eyes always holding that know-it-all-I'm-smarter-than-you-and-I-like-to-throw-it-at-you-face spark in them.

It was already difficult having to see him at work every single morning, but having to see him on my days off was just torture. He was…

"Are you going to just stand there? Rose made me this really delicious sandwich…" He looked down at the small piece of bread he had left, prying it open to see what was inside. "I don't really know what it has, but it's amazing."

"Cold turkey and honey mustard. It's her specialty. She's made those for as long as I've known her." I walked further into the room, taking the stool across from him. I reached for another plastic-wrapped newspaper, taking it out and spreading it in front of me. As usual, I skipped everything and went directly to the financial section, checking the weekly bank ranking and any news on international economy and commerce. It was really what I was interested in, other stuff I could later surf on the net or watch it on TV.

"I had a very interesting talk with your mother, yesterday. She's very… amusing."

Oh, God… Please, let it be something else. I swear if she's said anything about me, I will smother her in her sleep. "Hmm, what was so interesting about it?"

He shrugged, going to the fridge for a bottle of water. He was beyond my line of vision since the machine was behind me, so it was really startling when he leaned over my shoulder to whisper in my ear, his hands pushing my hair aside, lightly touching my neck. I suppressed a shiver. "She couldn't stop talking about you." He straightened up, walking around the isle to his stool. His eyes bore into mine; I could feel his gaze wander from my face and moving lower. There was a sexy, yet dangerous tilt to his lips, and I briefly closed my eyes when I felt the sudden urge to kiss him until either one of us blacked out. Damn my mother!

"Oh, really? What did she say about me?" I smiled, trying to ease the tension in my body. I wanted to scream out loud. "I hope, flattering things."

"Very flattering things. It almost seemed like she was trying to…" He trailed off, apparently as he thought for a word to use. "…like she was trying to sell me a product."

I frowned. Yeah, that was my mother, alright. She would flatter me and say I was born into royalty to get him to like me. Ugh, I felt like a teenager going through peer-pressure troubles. "Just ignore her; she's harmless." I wanted to snort when those words left my mouth. My mother was as harmless as a lion dueling with another for kingship. She doesn't know how to lose. She never did, why start now, right? I wanted to smack my head against the wall until I lost consciousness. Maybe jump in front of a moving truck or something…

I was beyond grateful when Pagan walked into the kitchen, dressed in his impeccable black suit. His blue eyes were warm as he greeted us, looking quite surprised. I was never a morning person when I lived with my parents. Then again, I left home when I was 17. I've changed a lot since then. "Good morning, Mr. Barton. And a very good morning to you, too, Miss Relena. What a surprise."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Don't look so shocked, Pagan. I'm an early riser, now. You should come live with me; you'd get to sleep in longer."

"Well, that's a paradox."

"Not really; I'm usually out of my apartment before sunrise."

Trowa raised an eyebrow at this. "Before sunrise? And what exactly do you do? You usually get to work around 8."

"I go jogging… It's really energizing to do something like that before starting the day. There's nothing like a bout of adrenaline to get you rolling."

Now, there was something in the look Trowa sent me that had me almost shivering. He looked at me sideways, that sexy grin touching the corners of his damned kissable lips.

"You're right, Miss Relena. A daily exercise is very good for your health." Pagan, bless his good soul, didn't catch the look. "Although, I know I no longer see you as often as before, I did notice last night you look… thinner. Have you been eating well?"

I smiled at him; trust in him to worry over the most trivial things. "Yes, Pagan. I do eat. There's nothing you have to worry about. Though, I'm very hungry right now."

He nodded, that smile still attached to his lips. "I'll tell Mrs. Rose right away."

Now, why would I have said that? That left me and Trowa alone, with him still wearing that obnoxious grin of his. "What's so funny?"

He shook his head, lowering his paper and pulling his arms up on the table. "Nothing really. I just find you…" He stopped for a second, shaking his head softly.

I was aware of his feelings for me. It's something I've always tried to deny—that although difficult, I had managed quite successfully. On various occasions he's come on to me, inviting me to his apartment for nightcaps and such. Sensual innuendos like light touches on my thighs, arms or neck; how he always seems to find me when I'm alone at work, sneaking into my office for a 'casual talk'… I won't deny I'm attracted to him, but I'm probably the only female alive in that company he still hasn't bedded.

He was dangerous. He really was and I didn't trust myself with him. God, but what wouldn't I give to be able to have him. This is one of the main reasons why I refuted my mother's proposal so vehemently. I didn't trust myself with him, and that was the entire truth. And knowing he wanted me in his bed didn't help matters… at all.

I stifled a groan. I wanted to hit something—or someone. "Find me how?" I prodded him, but my voice had come out harsher than I intended.

"Sexy. Beautiful. Unreachable. You seem jittery."

Was he reading my mind? And how do I answer something like that? My eyes willingly wandered down his body; he was wearing a soft white, cotton-knitted shirt and khaki trousers. He looked really laid back and handsome; a striking contrast from the severe suit and tie he wore for work.

I chose to ignore the first fraction of his sentence, focusing on the safest part. "Jittery? Well, I'm back at home. I'm not really looking forward to seeing my mother." …and find out what she has in store. I am positive she'll try something to get me and Trowa together. I expect she'll leave us alone whenever she gets the chance to. I feared she was also capable of ushering us away as if we were still kids and order us to spend some time together to 'get to know each other better'. She was so obvious sometimes.

"Well, I had an excellent time with her last night. I don't think she's that bad."

Yeah, because you won't mind if she's trying to set us up. Although, knowing Trowa, he would high-tail it as far as possible if he ever found out someone was trying to marry him off. I wondered if his mother was also working undercover for this fiasco. It wouldn't surprise me.

"That's because you don't really know her."

"Relena, your mother… I'm in awe of her. She's quite a woman."

I laughed. It was so weird hearing someone talking like that of my mother. I just hoped he was referring to her as an ex-business woman and not as a woman-woman. That thought almost made me go into panic. "Yes, well, she's still annoying and interfering."

"Then again, aren't all mothers that way?" He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "How did the trip go? And where's Dorothy? You didn't kill her and got rid of the body, did you?"

"No, but I was tempted to. Believe me; I thought that maybe dropping her somewhere in the Pacific Ocean would be a great idea." Along with you. It would save me a lot of problems. His laughter startled me; it was deep, a soft rumble as his eyes' color deepened with mirth. "But everything went on smoothly, as usual. Winner signed the contract, and now we're on hold until the construction is over. I have to talk to his new hotel manager… A guy named O'Hara, to settle down managerial and marketing issues. We got a 9.7 tax deduction from the South African government, plus the standard tax deduction that's given with the initial investment figure… we're talking of a total tax exemption of 20.2."

His eyes widened. "That's impressive. When is the hotel due?"

I shrugged, not really interested in getting into business right now. I had gone over enough figures the last couple of days to be thinking about numbers and such right now. "Construction will conclude some time around June, and the official inauguration will be held some time around August."

I heard someone clear their throat behind us, and we turned to see Rose standing in the doorway that led to the back terrace. "Breakfast is served."

I frowned and looked down at my wristwatch to see it was 7:23 a.m. I hadn't realized we had been talking for over an hour. And now breakfast was served… which meant everyone would be gathered, including my mother. I sighed. Well, here goes nothing.

* * *

My mother's face broke into a smile when she saw me, and it only widened when her eyes flicked down and saw I had linked my arm through Trowa's. It was only a gentlemanly gesture on his part; after all, his mother was also present… Men seemed more courteous when they were in the presence of their mother than in the presence of other people.

Everyone was already seated around the small, rectangular table, so I made my way around it to greet my parents and Tristan, and to be introduced to Kara, whom I was yet to meet. She was a lovely woman; redhead with fine freckles on her flawless, pale skin. Her green eyes were a startling emerald as they shone in the gleaming sun. I now knew where Trowa had gotten his features from since he didn't look like Tristan, at all, only except in height. Tristan was tall and broad shouldered, with a mop of chocolate hair and clear, blue eyes. Trowa's hair was a hue between his father's brown hair and his mother's auburn hair; he had his mother's eyes and pale skin, and her face's fine bone structure… Though the body was entirely Tristan's.

There were two empty chairs on the other side, right in front of Kara and Tristan… Something was wrong with this setting. I guess I must've been standing there doing nothing because I felt Trowa's fingers at the small of my back, bringing me back to the present. He led me to my seat, helping me with my chair before he went to sit beside me. I wanted to glare at the little name tags placed in front of us; regular protocol would have placed me on the other side of the table, between my father—who was at one end—and Tristan Barton, who sat beside my mother—she, as hostess, had the other end. Kara would have sat right in front of me, between my father and Trowa. Instead, I had been switched with Kara, which put me beside Trowa.

I turned to glare at my mother—I knew she had been the one to switch the tags, Pagan never made a mistake in these things—but she was already looking at me, a small, knowing smile turning up the corners of her lips. I gritted my teeth to keep from stomping my way inside the house.

So, her scheming had begun.

Large trays and bowls with pancakes, French toast, fruit, rolls, hash brown, and other assorted foods were passed on around the table. The talk was light and very wide; no personal references had been made, nor any comment out place, and I had started to think my mother had somehow forgotten or decided discussing that over a meal was not adequate—when Kara cleared her throat and called my name.

"Relena, dear, tell me a little about you." She dabbed her lips with her napkin. "I heard you were away for Christmas."

I smiled; I wondered who had told her? I imagine my mother, because I didn't think Trowa spoke with her mother about women. Or did he? "Yes, I was in South Africa settling down some business I had pending."

"With Quatre Winner." My mother added saucily. God, I wanted to hit her. It seemed that ever since she had retired, she's decided to meddle in my life as a hobby. "How is he, by the way? It's been ages I haven't seen him or any of his sisters."

I tried to relax my face; I could feel I was frowning. I stopped myself from rubbing my forehead, it's become a habit I haven't been able to get rid of. "He signed the contract, if that's what you're asking. Actually, we got a lot done. We were able to take a look at the construction site and even speak with the engineer and architect in charge."

"You should've gotten rid of Dorothy." I heard Trowa mutter under his breath, but I tried to keep my face straight.

Breakfast was over not long after that, and when finally everyone decided to get up—the men going to the golf courts for a friendly game—I realized I would have to face my mother and Kara. I'm almost positive she knows something and is helping my mother with her matchmaking from hell. It was one thing to tell my mother off, subtly and kindly, but it was another thing trying to discredit Trowa Barton in front of his mother. I was planning on telling my mother of some of Trowa's faults, after all, she had witnessed the kind of women he liked to go out with. But in front of Kara? I don't think I can be that evil.

We agreed to go change and meet at the indoor Jacuzzi; the thought of the turbo-motion water on my skin was bliss after the last couple of very hectic days. I changed into a simple, black bikini with a halter top, tying a long, sheer white sarong around my hips, and stepping into the same pair of white flip flops I had earlier before I went to join the two older women at the back of the house.

The air was chilly, even if we were still indoors, but when the warm water splashed on my skin as I slipped into the tub, I felt my skin break in goose bumps. Kara and my mother joined me a little later, clad in one-piece bathing suits and wearing mischievous looks on their faces.

"Ah, this is heavenly." Kara moaned as she rested her head back against the edge of the tub. "My back is so stiff; I think I will break in half. But this, this is just what I needed."

My mother laughed along, shaking her head in amusement as one of the housemaids came in with a tray in her hands, balancing the tall bottle of chardonnay and the three crystal glasses expertly. She placed the tray right on the edge of the tub, and my mother reached for it to fill the glasses with the sparkling fluid. Just what I needed to help me ease my eternal tension.

I reached forward to take my glass as she handed it to me, and I almost let it drop at the look in her eyes; wicked. "Relena, my darling; I was talking to Kara yesterday as we waited for you to get here—and she agrees that you and Trowa make a very beautiful couple."

Did I say my mother was subtle? That was one direct approach.

Kara took a sip of her wine before sighing almost dramatically. "You should see the type of women that son of mine dates. They're… skimpy! I know women dress differently today than they did before… but, their make-up, their clothes, their manners!" She paused to shake her head. My image of her was starting to shatter, piece by agonizing piece. I had never expected her to be so… snobby. "But you my dear, you're a sight for sore eyes. You're magnificent! Just the kind of woman I'd love for my son."

My brows had risen in amused surprise at her speech; I'd never expected her to be so forward about it. "Listen, Mrs. Barton—"

"Kara, please."

I gritted my teeth as I forced a smile. "Kara. Listen you two," I took a deep breath as I tried to calm myself. "This is getting ridiculous. I don't know what exactly you two are planning, but I will not let myself get involved in this… game of yours! I have my own life, and I have things to do with it, I don't need or want others telling me who I should or shouldn't date. And believe me, Kara, neither does your son. If anything was to develop between us, it would've happened already."

My mother made a little sound at the back of her throat. "Relena, please, you don't know that. And what if something does happen between you two?"

Kara smiled, leaning forward. "Relena, my son is a fine young man. If you just gave him the opportunity—"

I frowned. Were these women deranged? What exactly didn't they get? I wasn't letting them or anyone pair me up. If anything is meant to happen between a man and me, then it will happen in its due time. I agreed to date Trowa Barton, but I had a feeling they were trying to convince me to marry him. Why else would they be so vigorous? "—the opportunity to what? Kara, mother—Trowa and I are friends…" Really? We were just colleagues. "The company policies forbid any romantic relationships between its employees; I don't want to run the risk—"

My mother laughed and the sound seemed shallow and yet, harsh. "Risk what? Getting fired? By whom? By Tristan? Honey, you're more intelligent than that. Tristan would never do such a thing to you, and even if he dared to, he can't. You're a partner, now, Relena. You're equals. Both your contracts have stipulations that place an equal share oftwenty-five percentper partner. You own ¼ of that company."

There goes my one and only valid reason. I should've known my mother would pull her attorney-mumbo-jumbo crap on me. How was I going to tell them that I was afraid of establishing any sort of relationship? I just wasn't ready for that sort of commitment. It's not the kind of person I am. I've been called many names by my past lovers, but never loving, or homey or tender. Devoted? Could I devote myself to one person?

I sighed at my own thoughts, pushing them away as they threatened to fill my eyes with tears of frustration. Unfortunately, the women before me took my sigh as a sign of defeat.

Kara smiled sympathetically at me, but I shook my head before she could say something. I put my glass on the floor beside my head and rose to get out. "I'm sorry, but I don't think you understand. You can't meddle in other people's lives! I don't know in what century you two are living in, but in _my_ society, men and women are free to date and marry who they please. Kara," I stopped in front of a bendable chair to get a towel, drying my skin as quickly as I could, before I wound the sarong back around my hips. "I don't know your son that well; I think he's a great man. But I don't know him. I'm sure if he were here, he would say the same."

"I do."

I don't think I've ever been so happy to see someone as I do now—seeing Trowa walk into the room right now, a deep frown crinkling the skin around his eyes, was just the most amazing thing in the world. He stopped beside me—his broad presence a sudden, unexpected comfort—but his eyes were fixed on the women still inside the tub. They fidgeted nervously under his intense glare, and I wanted to laugh from the sight they made.

Kara exchanged a glance with my mother before she looked at her quiet son again, sitting up straighter. "Trowa, my dear, what are you doing here?"

"It's drizzling." He crossed his arms over his chest. I didn't know if whether I wanted to laugh or just run to my room. "I thought we had gone over this before. I don't need you meddling into my affairs. Back off." He said in a very, very frosty monotone. Christ, I need to remember him like this; I don't ever want to be on his bad side.

Kara crossed her arms over her chest as well, defiance and authority in her voice. "Trowa, don't use that tone with me. I don't think I've done anything wrong, we were just conversing."

I was startled when I felt his strong arm wound around my waist as he maneuvered me to the door, closing it behind us. His hand was grasping my hip, and I couldn't keep my heart from beating wildly as I felt his musky cologne envelop me.

"I'm sorry about that; my mother can be obstinate and persistent sometimes. She's been doing this to me for quite some time now. I'm sorry you happened to be her new victim."

This was Kara's idea? I thought it had been my mother's! "It's my fault; I let them get the better of me."

We went up the main stairs; his hold on my waist was relentless but I don't think he noticed. He stopped midway down the guest hall when he turned to me, his head bowed. I was tempted to touch his hair, so I could see his eyes more clearly. He had amazing eyes, but his messy bangs were always covering them.

"What's wrong?" I noticed my voice came out hoarse.

He raised his eyes to lock gazes with me. His eyes flickered over my face, and I felt like he wanted to tell me something. He seemed unsure and cautious, and when his eyes lowered to my lips, I couldn't help but lick them apprehensively.

He frowned, and his hand on my hip tightened as he moved me closer to him.

"I have to go." I didn't want him to kiss me. Well, okay, yes, but I didn't want the complications that would come after said kiss. God, I'm strong, I should feel proud of myself—even if I was very tempted to kick my own ass for turning him down like this. I took a few steps away, his hand falling to his side. He didn't look surprised; I should give him some credit. "I'm sorry, I need to go change."

What an utterly lame excuse! Christ!

As I turned around, wanting to hide in the haven of my rooms, I bumped into a housemaid and the tray with empty glasses she had went all sailing to the floor, crashing loudly. It was just what I needed. What a great way to leave with some dignity! I kneeled down to help her pick up the shards, and when I looked over my shoulder to see if Trowa was still there, a door was slammed shut.

I sighed, grateful he was gone.

* * *

_To be continued..._

**To my reviewers:**

**Lixangel**: Thanks, sweetie! I always try to create a working atmosphere in my story. How can a story have any semblance to reality when the characters never go to work/have a job? I am a financial consultant, so it was really fun writing about my job! (laughs) I'm a sucker for romance, so I hope this chapter met your expectations. I'm evil with that cliffhanger, but hey, it was sexy. And about Relena being jaded in regards to relationship, yet still believes in marriage… I guess women come to a point when they're just tired of being hurt, or become a afraid of –getting– hurt… yet you're still like any other girl who wishes to marry her Prince Charming and 'live happily every after'… Anyway, thanks again for that amazing review!

**Cherryheart**: I'm updating! As you can tell from this chapter, this –is– going to be a Trowa/Relena story and because I'm a 1xR fan, I won't submit myself, or any other fan to the pain of having Heero watch as his woman ends up with someone else. So, I'm playing it safe by leaving Heero out of the picture (I know that if I were to include him, Relena will end up with him).


	3. The New York Times

**Her Wicked Ways**  
By Andrea Sinisterra  
Romance  
Rated PG-13  
_Standard Disclaimers Apply_

**Author's Note:** Chapter three! The much awaited New Year's bash! Expect some twists in this chappie, plus a few surprises here and there. Please, remember to review! (laughs)

**Special thanks:** To GG for proofreading this!

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**Part 3**

I got a call from Dorothy earlier; she said she had an appointment scheduled for Monday to meet Charles O'Hara, Mr. Winner's new hotel manager. Apparently, the guy lived in Boston, but he would only stay two to three weeks after New Year before he, along with his family, moved to Port Elizabeth.

I was pleased to know Dorothy was taking her job seriously. I hadn't planned on contacting O'Hara yet, but now that she had, I was glad I had something to look forward to after this hellish, nightmarish, terrifyingly torturous weekend.

I skipped lunch, not really in the mood to face my mother, Kara and especially, Trowa. So I wasn't really surprised when I opened my bedroom door to knocking and found Pagan with a tray of food. My stomach groaned and Pagan shook his head, a soft smile on his lips. He placed the tray on the small dining set out on the balcony; the delicious scent was almost overpowering. He hadn't even finished setting up the table when I was already reaching for a roll and smearing it with cream cheese.

"Ms. Relena, chew, please. Nobody's going to eat your food." He stood beside me, watching as I ate myself into a stupor. I wasn't even going to fight; it was useless asking him to sit with me, he never did.

He left when there was another knock at the door, and he let in a housemaid carrying a Bergdorf Goodman garment bag and a small, black Jimmy Choo shoebox. I groaned; I knew what it was and from who.

"Ms. Relena, Mrs. Peacecraft sent you this; she said she wants you to wear it for dinner. She asked me to come later to help you get ready. Is there anything you need before I leave?"

I had been shaking my head for a while now. I already knew what I was going to wear! My mother knows I hate dressing up, and knowing her, she would have gotten me the most expensive, sexy, revealing gown she could find. My mother was not standard. She was not like regular mothers who banned their daughters from dating men or from wearing revealing things—she said there was a limit between being sexy and being sluttish. Those were her words.

My mother always hated my suits; not that I didn't wear skirts, but she didn't like the fact that I always wore black, gray or navy blue. The few suits I had that were any color besides those, were her gifts; like the turquoise one, the mauve one, the light blue, the lavender, the peach one…

"No, thank you."

"Alright. I'll be back at six."

I sighed as she closed the door. I wailed. "Pagan…"

Pagan looked pensive for a moment, his forehead crinkling before he smiled at me. "Child, your mother does things because she believes it's the best for you. Whether you think they're wrong or not, she is still your mother." I was about to protest when he shook his head at me. "But, I don't agree with what she is doing right now."

"You heard what happened earlier at the pool, right?"

He nodded soberly. "Ms. Relena, you're still young. Your mother had a very rough life, and I believe she is just trying to protect you. All I'm saying is… don't judge her. Maybe her methods are not the best, but she's still doing it because she believes it's the best for you."

He picked up the tray since I was done eating, and made his way to the door. "And what am I supposed to do? Get married to someone I don't even know? If I say no, it will hurt her. Pagan, what she's trying to do is wrong, and since I'm not willing to go with it, she'll only get hurt."

He nodded. "And you are right. Why don't you compromise?"

"How?"

Pagan smiled as he opened the door. "Meet her halfway."

Hours later as I was getting ready, all I could think of was Pagan's words. They kept rolling around in my head, endlessly… And after much considering, I knew it was what I needed to do. It was a great plan when you came down to it. If I agreed to date Trowa, it would placate my mother's jittery, unwanted worrying, and she would let me be. Of course I would then say it didn't work out between us, maybe add some 'how I'm hurt', 'he didn't love me', or the usual 'I'm not ready for dating' and she would leave me alone. At least it would buy me some time. And she would desist from Trowa Barton.

That sounded as good a plan as any. At least it was something.

The dress my mother had bought was really not my taste, but it was certainly beautiful… and I was suddenly grateful since it would help me if I intended to follow my plans.

I stood in front of the full size mirror; it was almost time for the reception my mother usually has before dinner. I could hear the cars coming up the long driveway, delivering our guests to our front door. Our guests being people from the high society who either spent their holidays in Martha's Vineyard or flew all the way from the mainland to our house. At the end of the night, a gorgeous show of fireworks would lit the sky and reflect on the ocean, welcoming the New Year.

I had dressed with the utmost care; Katherine, a housemaid, gushed over the beautiful ivory, Valentino gown my mother had gotten me. It was low cut at the front, with beautiful tonal harlequin beading interlocking in an elegant design. It was tight and sleeveless, but it flared elegantly at the bottom. It was really gorgeous… and expensive. I slipped on the silver sandals and reached for my white gold chandelier earrings and my tennis bracelet. I left my neckline bare, not wanting to overdo the dress' beadings.

My hands were sweating by the time I left my room, heading for the main foyer were I knew everyone would be. I greeted those I already knew, smiling and being respectful even if I didn't linger too much. I wasn't in the mood to socialize right now. It was, after all, my mother's party.

I spotted Trowa standing by the large French doors that led to the library, wearing a bored look and with a glass of bourbon in his hands. He saw me as I approached him, and I couldn't help the goose bumps that assaulted my skin at his look. His eyes traveled the entire length of my body; the predatory depth in them reminding me of the almost-kiss of earlier. He finished the last of his drink in one gulp, grinning when I stopped in front of him.

"We need to talk."

One of his eyebrows rose high on his forehead at my tone. "We're not married yet and we're already having problems? That's a bad omen."

I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or hit him. Or kiss him. I bit my tongue to bring myself to focus. "Shut up. I don't plan on marrying you. How can you joke about something like this?"

He snorted at my outburst, shaking his head at me. "Relena, I'm not planning on marrying you, or anyone else, either. My mother's done this before; I admit she's been more eager with you than she was with other women, but I don't think she'll push this too far. Relax."

I was about to reply, when he pushed a stray curl away from my face. His finger slid down my cheek to my neck, and I couldn't help but shiver at the sensual caress. His eyes had grown darker and more dangerous and I was tempted to grab his collar and drag him inside the library.

"Although," He continued, his voice having gone completely husky. "I wouldn't mind. At all."

Wouldn't mind, what? I couldn't concentrate as his finger traveled down my shoulder, to my bare arm and when he reached my hand, he grabbed it and placed it on the crook of his arm, leading me to the banquet hall, as dinner was announced.

Dinner went without any hitches; the banquet hall was filled with 10 to 12 round tables to sit the 50 or so guests; 4 long banquet tables were placed against the walls, as waiters walked about, attentive. I wasn't seated with my parents or the Bartons, to my utmost happiness, even if I had to seat at the table with Trowa. Our mothers' doing, I presume.

My skin still tingled with the memory of his touch, and I was grateful when my father announced the fireworks were scheduled to commence in an hour. Meaning drinks. Lots of alcoholic beverages. Music could be heard coming from outside, out the back French doors which led to the gardens and marina. It was a really beautiful night, slightly chilly, but not by much.

A large dance floor had been built in the middle of the garden, and people didn't hesitate to make good use of it, dancing to the tune of the live orchestra my mother had hired. I grabbed the sleeve of a passing waiter, taking a champagne flute from the tray he was carrying and drinking it in one gulp. Trowa tried to stop me when I reached for another glass, but I shrugged him off, gulping the second one in record time.

"You're going to get drunk and make a spectacle out of yourself in front of all these people." He warned me. His tone was reproachful, but when I turned to look at his face, he was smirking, taking my empty glass from my fingers and leading me to the dance floor.

We danced for a few minutes; he was a really great dancer, I have to admit. I laughed a couple of times when I missed a few steps and jumbled up our sync, but he laughed with me and kept on dancing, twirling me out a couple of times. I was having a really great time, when I remembered I still had to talk to him. I couldn't tell him over dinner since I didn't want to risk any of the guests at our table overhearing us.

Now was a good time… if ever.

"We need to talk, Trowa." I dragged him to a side of the dance floor that was partially clear of people. I quickly snatched another glass of champagne from a passing-by waiter. "Look, I've been thinking all day about this…ordeal our mothers have gotten us into. I know that if I refuse, I will hurt my mother for reasons that right now, are unimportant." He was about to protest when I started speaking again; I didn't want him to interrupt for fear of losing my guts. "Look; we'll just pretend we're going out; you know, to get them off our backs, and then we'll just break it up. We'll say it just didn't work out between us. They won't bother us again. Think about it. Maybe they'll even feel sympathy for us and leave us alone for good."

He was frowning at me; I could practically hear the wheels turning inside his head as he analyzed my proposal. I wasn't entirely sure myself, but it was a good plan. It was sketchy, but still good.

He didn't get to answer as there was a loud noise as my mother grabbed the microphone. She was standing in the large wooden gazebo, wearing a beautiful, long sleeved gold, chiffon dress. She smiled at me when she spotted me, and I felt something akin to fear clench my insides.

"Good evening, everyone. First of all, I would like to thank you all for coming, there's nothing more heartwarming than spending a holiday such as New Year's with people like you. As tradition dictates, the fireworks will begin exactly at midnight—that's in…" She stopped to look at her watch, calculating the time. "Seven minutes. But first, I have a huge announcement— very important news I'd like to share with all of you. My daughter, Relena Peacecraft—"

I tried to breathe in deeply when everyone started looking around, smiling at me when they spotted me. The feeling in my gut incrementing tremendously. My grip on Trowa's arm tightened.

"—and Trowa Barton are engaged to be married!"

Her voice boomed over the speakers around us; the people started clapping loudly and whistling; Trowa's voice calling my name… I felt faint. I've never before fainted, but I felt lightheaded and… weak.

I felt Trowa's arm go around my waist, holding me tightly to his side. I heard him whisper something in my ear softly, but I couldn't make out what he was telling me, until I felt his other hand go behind my neck to angle my head back.

"Apparently, your plan is on." He whispered, and I couldn't help but notice how his lips loomed even closer to mine. "Now, close your eyes and relax; we'll give them a show they won't ever forget."

I wasn't able to put a single word in edgewise or think over what he said when his lips crashed down on mine, kissing me softly, but thoroughly. He kissed me expertly, prodding my lips apart to sweep his tongue into my mouth, stroking it against mine… It took me a few seconds to react, before I was kissing him back just as fiercely. I heard the people around us start cheering even louder than before, and that's what made me react.

"…Ten, nine…"

His breath was heavy on my throat as I tried to gather my senses.

"…Eight, seven…"

"You'll have to move in with me…" he whispered; his voice, papery.

"…Six, five…"

"You'll have to buy me a ring…"

"…Four, three…"

"You look stunning tonight, Relena—"

"…Two, one…"

"—I forgot to mention that earlier." He managed to utter against my lips, before he kissed me again.

"Happy New Year!"

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The sharp ringing of my alarm clock woke me at exactly 4:50 a.m. on Monday. I had gotten back the night before after spending a somewhat uneventful Sunday. Our parents had apparently decided to leave Trowa and me alone, probably thinking we'd want to spend the rest of the weekend with each other.

Truth is Trowa spent the entire day trying to keep me from killing my mother. I was partially thankful the woman had decided to make herself scarce and not face me, because I knew that if I was to lay a single hand on her, it would be to strangle her. It was one thing agreeing to date someone, but to be engaged against your will? And have it announced in front of a multitude? It was madness.

I had the slight feeling that Trowa was enjoying this a little too much; I never heard him protest or seem the least affected by our current predicament. In fact, I caught him smiling several times whenever he thought I wasn't watching.

I can't look at his lips.

I shook my head. No, seriously, every time I look at his lips, I'm reminded of when he kissed me two nights ago. He had really kissed me; it wasn't one of those innocent, hesitant kisses—no, no, no! He had kissed me like—I don't even know how. Desperately? Wantonly.

Dear God…

I pulled on some black sweatpants and a sweater, along with my running shoes. I needed to do something to help me clear my mind. Thankfully, now that the holidays were over and that we were back from that awful, weekend from hell, I could finally focus on something productive. Like work. I had a bunch of things to do; the only downside was that I had to face Trowa again, but it wasn't like we shared an office or had any common accounts, so that made me feel a little relieved.

The weather was breezy and cold as I left my apartment and headed to the park, but I ignored it as I pulled my sweater's hood over my head.

I wanted to call Mrs. Monahan to settle another appointment; it had felt good being able to talk to someone without the pressure of criticism, even if it had been a little difficult to open up at first. I just hoped she could squeeze me in today, if anything, I needed some advice.

I was not planning on moving in with Trowa Barton, of that, I was more than positive. Nor was I expecting him to move in with me. I was not even planning to let this drag on for too long. One or two months would be more than enough. I had thought maybe three or four weeks, but now that our 'engagement' was more or less of a common knowledge we had to let it run a little longer. I didn't want our names to be tarnished by false allegations or crude gossip. We had to make it as believable as we possibly could.

I was sweaty and breathless when I reached my apartment after running 11 miles. I loved the feeling when you come from a tough exercise, that feeling that makes you think you'll be able to conquer the world with a snap of your fingers. It was invigorating, and I suddenly felt the urge to see my mother so I could tell her all that my heart desired.

I threw my dirty clothes in the whicker hamper and stepped inside the shower, the steam clogging the glass door and mirrors. My cell phone suddenly started ringing, but I ignored it; I wouldn't get to it on time, anyway.

I shampooed and rinsed off my hair in record time, turning the faucets off as I checked my watch to see it was a quarter to seven. I reached for a towel and dried off, wrapping another one around my hair as I made my way to the kitchen to prepare some instant coffee. I didn't have time to boil water, but when I passed the living room I was more than shocked to see Trowa Barton seating there as if he'd owned the place.

"You should learn to lock your door; you never know who might come in."

I stood there, not really knowing what to do or say. He was wearing a dark gray suit with a plain gray satin tie over a white shirt, a newspaper under his arm. I backed a few steps when he stood up; how small my apartment looked with his large form overpowering the space.

His eyes moved over my bare shoulders, their color darkening as I saw his nostrils flare.

"What are you doing here?" I snapped at him, more upset at myself than at him. I continued my way to the kitchen, knowing he would eventually follow me.

"Here." He dropped the paper on the counter, an expectant look in his eyes.

I withdrew two mugs from the shelf, pouring water as I timed the microwave to two minutes. "I can buy my own, thanks."

He grabbed my arm almost roughly and dragged me to the counter, making me sit on one of the high stools I had there. I tried wrapping the towel tighter to my body; afraid it would give out and embarrass me. I looked up to glare at him, about to insult him into kingdom come, when he pointed a stubborn finger at the newspaper. "I suggest you stop behaving like a child and read the damn paper." My skin throbbed painfully where his hand had grabbed me, but I refused to let him know that. Asshole. I perused lazily through the sections, not really knowing what I was looking for. I was surprised when he rudely reached for the paper and almost ripped it apart when he opened it to the social announcements section. "Read."

"Jason Frederick and his 24-year-long wife, Marietta Frederick, have officially announced their divorce. Rita Madison, Mrs. Frederick's attorney, announced to the press early—"

"Everyone knew that one was coming. Keep on reading."

His little sarcastic tone was starting to grate on my nerves, and I was two seconds away from sending him to hell when I turned the page and the first article took my breath away. There, in the middle of the page, in full color was a picture of Trowa and me kissing at the New Year's party. The headline read "Finance Mogul Captures Company Femme-Fatale" and under it, it read "Fairytale Down in Manhattan".

"Femme-Fatale? Who writes this shit?" I quickly read the article; it was kind of vague, not giving a lot of detail, only stating that my mother had announced our engagement at our New Year's annual party, that the date was still to be decided… it also explained a little on our backgrounds and where we worked, but besides that, it didn't say much. The picture, on the other hand… Did we really kiss like that? "I'm… I'm going to kill our mothers and don't you dare defend them or stop me!"

I tore my eyes from the picture when the microwave beeped, and I walked over to retrieve our mugs, adding a tablespoon of coffee to each and handing Trowa his.

"I'm going to go get ready. You can stay if you want." I didn't wait for his reply as I stomped my way to my bedroom, slamming the door as hard as I could. The sound made me feel a little better, and I was very tempted to yank it open and slam it shut again. I quickly made my way to my dresser; taking out and putting on my underwear before I dragged myself to the bathroom to blow dry my hair.

Thirty minutes later, I was ready to go. I checked myself one last time on the mirror, adjusting the lapels of my suit and then putting on my small diamonds studs. I grabbed my purse on my way out, only to see Trowa pacing around the living room, a deep frown on his forehead as he talked quietly on his cell phone. I could make out a few words like 'problem', 'dating', 'done' and 'wife'… And 'Krista'.

Krista McKenzie, Trowa's girlfriend.

I knew they had been dating, but since Trowa never mentioned her and seemed so willing to go along with this plan, I didn't think they'd still be going out. Now, by the distressed look he had on his face and from the angry voice I could clearly hear coming from his phone, Krista McKenzie wasn't too thrilled with the prospect of her boyfriend –not just dating—but being engaged to someone else.

I wonder if it was Krista my mother had seen dining with Trowa the other day, or if it had been someone else… Krista was a very elegant woman, if a little snobby, so I didn't think she was the skimpy girl Kara and my mother had mentioned. I wondered why Kara didn't approve of Krista. She was a very successful woman in her own right, maybe the two women just didn't get along? But knowing how people like Kara and mother thought, they probably wouldn't approve of Krista because she didn't come from a high-profile family. Snobs.

"Ready?" Trowa asked as he snapped his phone shut, and when I nodded, he walked to the door and reached for my black coat.

He helped me into it before he grabbed his and I locked the apartment on our way to the elevator. The ride was quiet and uncomfortable, and I was more than thankful when the elevator chimed, stopping on the ground floor. I stepped out quickly, intent on making my way outside the building, suddenly craving the brutal cold weather against my face, when I felt his hand on my shoulder to stop me.

"Hold on, not so fast."

I made an annoyed, impatient noise; we were really going to be late. It was a quarter to 8, I saw on my watch. "What now?"

He grinned boyishly at me, the skin on his forehead and around his mouth crinkling in a very cute manner. He reached inside his coat's pocket, and when he showed me what he held in his hand, I wasn't sure if I wanted to slap him, laugh, or just run. Run as fast and as far as I could.

He opened the small, velvet jewelry box, revealing a beautiful solitaire diamond set in a white gold band; it was gorgeous as it sparkled in almost iridescent hues under the lobby's soft lights. It was exquisite and I was enamored with it.

He pulled it out and reached for my hand; I was about to take it from him and do it myself when I noticed we had gathered an audience, so I let him do it. I could feel the heat rushing to my face at the attention, and had to remind myself repeatedly that this was just one big charade. I couldn't help it as I stared at my hand; the ring sparkled brightly and I was startled when Trowa leaned forward and kissed my cheek, then moving a little to whisper in my ear.

"Don't look so shocked; we were already engaged. People are staring."

I nodded mutely and allowed him to take my hand and guide me outside, flagging a cab to take us to work.

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I was thankful when we passed front desk and Rob, the station guard, greeted us as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He probably was too busy to read the paper.

I had never wanted this to go public! This was supposed to be an arrangement to get our families off our backs, and meant to stay _in_ our families. I never expected my mother to announce it and then to go to the press and have it printed, with pictures might I add, for the entire world to see. I wonder who took that picture… probably some guest, because I doubted any reporter would have been given access to the party. They were never allowed in.

I fiercely hoped this wouldn't get in the way of my job; I wouldn't allow it. It was one thing to compromise my personal life this way, but let it jeopardize my work? Never. I loved my job too much to let something as trivial and as foolish as a false engagement get in the way.

We reached Barton, Wales, Burnham & Peacecraft executive offices in record time, and when the elevator's doors opened with a small chime, followed by the recorded voice welcoming us, I made a dash across the floor, wishing to avoid everyone and anyone. I had barely closed the door to my office when it opened again, Dorothy's face peeking through.

"Morning." She said casually, walking into the office and taking up a seat in front of me. She had a manila folder in her hands, several papers and clip notes visible around the edges. "Remember we have a lunch meeting with O'Hara… Oh, and Mr. Winner called last night, said he was in town, so I presume he will be assisting as well."

I fought the urge to sigh happily. Business, there's nothing more relaxing and comforting than it. "That's great." The unfamiliar scintillating of my ring distracted me for a second. Thankfully, Dorothy was too busy sorting through her folder to notice my faltering. "Since it's still too early to really have any paperwork to work on for Port Elizabeth, we'll just discuss some grounding rules to Mr. O'Hara. We'll have to schedule a trip to South Africa when he's settled and the hotel's administration has been set up… Until then, it's just planning."

I felt like I was tutoring Dorothy. She was really eager to learn more about handling accounts, and knowing that we had had our talk last week, made me feel more at ease with her. I didn't let my guard down, either way, not sure if I could fully trust in her. Who knew, she could stab me in the back one of these days. It's good to be on guard 200 of the time. It was foolproof.

The buzzer brought me out of my reverie; Meredith, my assistant, seemed rushed and the sound of rustling papers interrupted by her typing was clear through the line. "Ms. Relena, good morning; Mr. Winner on line 2. And remember your 3 o'clock appointment with Dr. Monahan." Good; I had a fairly easy day. Just one lunch meeting and Dr. Monahan and I would be free to wallow up in my misery. That would take me at least an hour.

"Good morning, Mr. Winner." I said into the receiver once I'd pressed the flashing red button.

"Ah, Relena; first of all, Happy 2006." He said lightly, his smooth voice, gentle and caressing. "I wanted to apologize for intruding into your business meeting—"

I chuckled graciously, wanting to dismiss his unnecessary, yet polite apology. "Nonsense, Mr. Winner. I happen to think having you present will move things along in a much fluid manner. As a matter of fact, I was wondering if it would be possible for you to bring a copy of Mr. O'Hara's contract. I would like to settle this as soon as possible." I took a breath, and tried to beat off a yawn that tried to work its way through. "As you may already have noticed, Ms. Catalonia is exceptionally eager to get her hands in this deal and work through it as soon and as accurately as humanly possible. I think you will be very pleased with her work, Mr. Winner." I tried not to smile when Dorothy sat up straight at my words; a small, pleased smile gracing her lips.

His deep chuckle rumbled through the earpiece. "Ah, Relena, you're such a charming woman. I'm looking very forward to work with Ms. Dorothy; as a matter of fact, Charles has spoken wonders of her." There was a brief pause before an electronic voice announced the arrival of a piece of mail. He was probably checking his e-mail on his laptop. "And speaking of Charles, I can't make you any promises, but I will try my best to get a copy of that contract faxed to me before our meeting."

"There's really no rush, Mr. Winner. We'll contact your office and ask your assistant to send it to us later if it proves to be too much hassle." There was a soft, brisk knock on my office door a moment before Meredith poked her head through. I raised a hand for her to wait; she stepped inside the office and closed the door behind her. "Well, Mr. Winner; I'm pleased—"

I guess he must have caught my departing tone for he laughed and then said, "I'm sorry to have kept you so long. I'll see you later. Until then."

I stared at the receiver for a second or two, amused at his brisk, if slightly abrupt parting. I shook my head as I replaced the device and reached to rub the skin between my eyebrows. I could just feel the slight throbbing wanting to make itself known. "Yes, Meredith?"

Meredith took a couple of steps forward, her hands clasped primly at her front. "Ms. Relena, there's a woman outside… She doesn't have an appointment, and I know you don't like to receive unscheduled visitors, but she threatened to make a 'scene' if you didn't see her now."

Both my eyebrows rose at this, as did Dorothy's. She started arranging the papers into her manila folder before she stood up. "This is my cue."

"Thank you, Dorothy." I turned to Meredith, who was still standing in the same position of before. "Who's she?"

"Krista McKenzie."

Dorothy let out a noise that sounded awfully like an 'ooh' or 'ouch', and I turned to glare at her. She turned around when she reached the door, a funny, teasing smile on her lips. "Good luck." She opened the door and was on her way out when she turned around again. "Oh, and by the way, congrats on the you-know-what."

"Shut up and get the hell out of my office. Now."

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_To be continued..._

I hope you liked this chappie! The next part is already finished (and it's filled with lots of action and swearing) but it still needs to be proofread. Please review, I'd love to know what you have to say about what just happened.

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**Reviews:  
**  
**Animei Yuya:** (laughs) Don't worry, I have no intentions of including Heero in this story. I'm also a 1xR die-hard fan, and it would only break my little, easily hurt heart. Thanks for the amazing review and I hope this chapter offered you all the surprises you wanted.

**Lixangel: **Another Financial Consultant! Yay! Well, it depends on what kind of market you want to work with; it differs a lot, including the country/area you're working with. Laws and taxes vary, as well as stock rates and such. It's a pretty demanding, stressful job because you have lots of responsibilities, but it's also very cool. I love it. As for the fic, I always like to give sort of realness to them, and I think that giving my characters some sort of real job is realistic enough. Oh, was this chapter sexy enough for you? Then I recommend you read the next one when it's posted. (laughs)

**FireDevaKitsuneKarma: **Thanks, sweetie! I'm thrilled you're enjoying this!


	4. The Man Whore

**Her Wicked Ways  
**By Andrea Sinisterra  
Romance  
Rated PG-13  
_Standard Disclaimers Apply_

**Author's Note:** I've come bearing good and bad news. Good news: I've updated. Yay, me! … Bad news: This is the last chapter I have written to completion. I'm currently working on chapter five, but just keep in mind that I no longer will be updating every one/two weeks. Sorry!

Hope you like this chappie! I don't think I've ever edited a chapter so much in my life... I deleted some scenes and added new ones from the original version because it just didn't please me. I'm still not pleased, but this was the best I could come up with, Be nice!

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**Part 4**

Krista McKenzie strode into my office shrouded in a cloud of Chic and with an attitude that didn't bode well with me. She threw her long wool coat on my leather sofa along with her purse, flinging her hair over her shoulder with an air of arrogance that had me two seconds away from calling security and have her kicked out of the building. I would give my entire fortune to see her face when Rob left the imprint of his G. I. Joe combat boot on her ass.

It would have been easier if she had at least knocked on my door; I'm not even asking for a simple good morning… But some courtesy would've helped. I know she must be upset since she believes I'm marrying her boyfriend—God, how amusing and strange that sounds—but there are ways to talk things over. This is my office, damn it.

I could already feel the bitchiness taking over my mind. I wanted to laugh at my silly thoughts. She can shove her Trowa up where the sun doesn't shine or wherever the hell she wants, like I cared.

Her tone made me wince. Did I really compliment this Krista McKenzie? Was I mad? I must have been drunk.

"Relena Peacecraft." My name was spat out as if it was a disgusting piece of rotten cheese; full of contempt. "I think you have some explaining to do. I want answers." With that, she slammed the Times down on my desk, folded with 'the' article and picture to the front.

I was suddenly grateful for the broad, solid expanse of my mahogany desk between us; I had the abrupt feeling this crazy woman could struck me anytime. She seemed like a very volatile person, and I know she had all the right to be, but why lose your cool and resort to violence? I was so not in the mood for a catfight, especially if it was uncalled for. To give Trowa the opportunity to gloat over the fact that two women were fighting over him? Pigs will fly before that happens. I cleared my throat, more to get my focus on her than to get _her_ attention on me. "Ms. McKenzie, please, take a seat."

She crossed her arms over her chest defiantly, but after a moment, she seemed to huff and sunk into the soft leather of one of the two chairs before my desk. She still had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, and the slight protuberance of her lips revealed the childish pouting and subsequent sulking. I wanted to laugh.

She was still regal and beautiful though, despite her tantrum. She sat straight in the chair, chin and nose raised high; her manicured nails tapping restlessly against her arms; her legs were crossed elegantly at her knees. She was tall, perhaps taller than me, with long dark brown hair that curled at the ends; bright, hazel eyes and light freckles over pale, flawless skin. She was dressed impeccably in a soft pink business suit, the skirt reaching just above her knees. She just needed to grow up a little—mentally. She probably was a good lay; I didn't think Trowa would enjoy spending so much time with her otherwise. And he was obviously fooling around on the side. I, now, was positive that Krista was not the woman my mother had seen Trowa with at that restaurant. Man-whore.

Hmm, that was something we had to discuss. If he was thinking of 'cheating' on me, something I really didn't care about, he had to make certain it will remain quiet and kept out of the public eye; otherwise I would be abolished by the press and then subsequently turned into a martyr. He, most certainly, would be spit on by every single person he passes by from his apartment on his way to work. Not to mention Alice, his secretary—who adores me—would probably poison his coffee.

I could already see the scandalous headlines at that.

Krista cleared her throat loudly, glaring at me through her thick dark lashes. "Well? I would like to know how it is that I wake up this morning to discover that _my_ boyfriend, Trowa Barton, is engaged to another woman?" God, she made Trowa sound like he was some sort of deity—or the son of some important President. Girl, get over yourself.

"Ms. McKenzie." I sighed dramatically, bleeding this for all it was worth. "It happened so suddenly. It was completely unexpected, for all of us, I assure you."

She was shaking her head vigorously. "I will not accept that. You were with Trowa when he was with_me_. You took him from me! I've been cheated in the worst possible way."

So, okay, I could sympathize with her. I could only imagine the embarrassment she must have gone through when she came across the announcement this morning. I could probably die if I opened the paper one day and found that my boyfriend was engaged to another woman. She had been a victim in this whole affair. But, if only Trowa had mentioned something, anything about Krista, something could've been done about it. But how do I tell a woman her boyfriend hadn't even thought of her when he accepted to marry someone else? How do you tell a woman that she's just another warm bed in an endless line of beautiful females?

Trowa, you pig-minded, heartless, conceited, shit-headed asshole!

I sighed. "Listen, Ms. McKenzie. You are right. Unfortunately, there's nothing I can tell you that will make you feel better. And believe me, yelling or crying your heart out to me won't help you either. I suggest you call Trowa, or better yet, go see him right now, and let him have a piece of your mind. You can hit him, I don't care. Slap him a few times, it'll make you feel better. Trust me."

She looked at me, and to give her credit, her eyes hardened instead of the torrent of tears I had been expecting. She nodded once, a small smile on her perfect, pink lips. She stood up and gathered her coat and purse, turning around a moment to regard me silently. "You know, you're not like I pictured you would be."

I laughed. "Yeah, I get that all the time."

She nodded again, and headed to the door. She straightened her shoulders when she opened the wooded panel, and turned around one last time. "Thanks."

I shook my head, smiling at her. "Not at all. Thank _you_ for understanding. Punch him hard for me, would you?"

She laughed, shaking her head before she closed the door behind her.

It wasn't even an hour later when Trowa barged into my office followed by a very ecstatic-looking Meredith. Trowa walked to stand in the space between the two leather chairs, just in front of me, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His brown bangs partially covered his eyes, but the emerald was still strikingly brilliant through the curtain of hair.

"Thank you, Meredith." I emphasized every word to let the not-so-subtle meaning down in my secretary's head. She nodded her head looking a little disappointed, but dutifully closed the door behind her.

Trowa still stood passively in front of me, and I noticed how he looked a little… disheveled. His hair was messier than usual, his tie was almost undone, and his shirt looked like it was… wet? Sweat? My brows rose in surprise when I put the pieces together. "So, I see you and Krista made up. How… cozy."

"Made up, when exactly? Before she slapped me, or maybe when she dragged me across the room? Or no, wait, perhaps while she dumped her glass of water on me? That could've been fun. I think her shirt was see-through. Maybe next time I'll be able to squeeze some TLC in between all the violence." He plopped down on one of the chairs, and I mentally cringed at the thought of the expensive Italian leather getting soaked and soiled.

I couldn't help myself as I laughed at his defeated tone. He just looked too adorable. "Oh, you poor thing." I leaned a little over my desk, shaking my head as I rested my chin on my upturned palm. "Trowa, how could you have overlooked the fact that you had a girlfriend?"

He shrugged, letting his long body melt into the chair. He tugged at his tie halfheartedly, trying to knot it back to some semblance of normalcy. "It's not like what we had, had been anything serious. She was even dating someone on the side. A coworker or something. I don't really give a shit. And cut me some slack, would you? It's not like I had time to consider my options. One moment you suggest we date to get our mother's off our backs, and the next, we're engaged and kissing in front of a multitude!"

I gasped. I stalked around the table stopping to stand in front of him. "Oh, well, I wasn't the one who put it upon herself to give the audience consisting of New York's wealthiest tattle tellers 'a show they would never forget'!"

There was a very sexy tug to one corner of his lips as he regarded me through lowered lids. He lazily drew back his outstretched legs, only to tower over me as he pushed some hair out of my face. "And I was right." He reached for my left hand, his fingers twirling the engagement ring teasingly. "I don't think Krista was that upset. It was just her female pride that got a little wounded."

I snorted, shaking my head at his words. "Trowa, how can you be so cynic?"

"We are but two of a kind, Relena." He moved forward a step, and as I stepped back, I found the edge of the desk against the back of my thighs. His musky cologne and aftershave formed a capsule of heady desire around me and it took all my willpower not to close my eyes and succumb to its call.

His breath fanned against my cheek, warm and slow. "You know," He whispered, his lips moving against my skin, touching but not quite kissing. "I should be thankful… You have no idea how long…" He kissed the edge of my jaw; his hands holding my waist firmly. He moved up to kiss the skin under my ear. "…I've wanted you."

He was intoxicating. His scent, his touch, his words, everything caused an unexpected reaction within me and for a moment I felt as if the very marrow had been drained from my bones. "Trowa," I pushed him back a little, yet his hands still remained steadfast on my hips. His biceps flexed where my hands gripped them, and I could see the strained look on his face. His eyes were dark; the emerald was so dark it was almost black, even if their depths still managed to sparkle. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

I moved around him, his hands falling from my sides as I took a seat. He followed suit and sat in the chair beside me.

"Look, we still have to settle a few things. How long will this last? I don't intend to stay engaged to you for too long, and neither am I thinking of getting married. If we keep it too short, they'll say we didn't try hard enough. If we drag this for too long, either they start pressuring us to get married, or they won't believe us if and when we break it up. I think we should stay engaged for a couple of months… let's say four to six months, and then we can just tell them it didn't work and that we've decided to go our separate ways."

He jerked his head once in a brisk nod. "I agree."

I waited for him to say something more, but he just sat there, defying me with his eyes. "And? You agree, so? You don't have anything else to add?"

He let out a deep breath… there was a tinge of something—disappointment, maybe?—in his eyes and voice. "No, I just find this whole issue a little hard to absorb and more than a little ridiculous. It was fine agreeing to fool our mothers, but fooling everyone else?"

I laughed lightly at the sarcastic amusement in his voice. "Well, it could've been worked out a little easier if you hadn't kissed me like some sex-driven macho. Then that picture wouldn't have gotten to the press and this would all have been way easier to deal with."

"Just tell me how did you weave this and turned it against me? How is this my fault?" The he grinned at me, his head tipped low as he regarded me through dark, lowered lashes. "But admit it, you liked it. In fact, I was a faithful witness to your enjoyment of said sex-driven activities."

I laughed at him, letting my head fall back on the chair. "I will not compromise myself to that, Trowa."

His words were husky as he lowered his voice; the sound floating sexily to where I sat. "You know very well that if I were to kiss you right now, you'd be with me the entire way. You want me, Relena, there's no point denying it."

Arrogant prick. "You're so full of bullshit I'm amazed you're still able to balance your head on your shoulders." I made my smile sweeter just to taunt him as I walked around my desk to sit behind it. I did want him, I have no qualms accepting it, but I'll be damned if I told him that. "You're still allowed to have your women, I don't plan on us changing our routine for this, but we have to keep our affairs out of the public eye to try to prevent a scandal; our mothers would probably die."

His eyes hardened somewhere along my short speech, and there was a visible tightening of his jaw as his lips thinned, forming faint lines around his mouth. "Good to know," he said gravely.

I frowned at his tone, not really knowing why he was suddenly so upset, but decided it really wasn't my problem. And neither did I care. He should be overflowing with happiness that he's allowed to have his women… not that he needs my permission.

"I'm sure Quatre Winner will also be pleased with this. He must've thrown a fit when he found out about our engagement."

I kept my face straight out of sheer willpower. He really was an asshole. My hands itched with the urge to wring his neck and mangle him into oblivion. I took a mental breath. "Hmm. Well, it's not any of your business. And speaking of which, I know you only come here to fuck around, but some of us actually come here to work. So, since I still have a bunch of things to go over, I suggest you go find something usefu—just something to do."

He stood up; his expression was completely closed up. He walked around the desk and I only had a second to register his movements before he seized my mouth, kissing me so harshly I almost whimpered by the force of his kiss. I tried pressing my lips closed but soon his lips softened on mine and I couldn't help but surrender to it as he kissed me so thoroughly I feared I would faint. His tongue stroked mine sensually; the slide smooth and passionate. He nudged me up to stand on my feet, and it was all I could do not to sigh when I felt his solid frame against me; his chest pressed against my breasts and one of his legs wedged between mine. I was once again surrounded by his scent, and I seemed to have lost all my strength for I didn't complain when he took a step forward and pressed the back of my legs to the desk. He slid his hands behind my thighs and hefted me up in one swift motion onto the cold mahogany surface.

His mouth left mine, and I was almost relieved as I sucked in a deep breath, but lost it again when he ducked his head to trail his tongue down my neck to my clavicle. I threaded my fingers through his silky hair, throwing my head back as I allowed the bliss to take over my body. The exquisite sensations that coursed through my blood were intoxicating, just like the feeling of his hands and mouth on my skin. One of his hands moved up to cup and knead one of my breasts through the silk of my blouse, his thumb drawing lazy circles over the nipple.

The sound of my own voice as I moaned wantonly broke me out my trance, and I jerked in surprise when the intercom buzzed. I hopped off the desk and turned around, running a hand through my tussled hair trying to smooth it out; I pressed the flashing button, opening the link as I took a deep breath. "Yes, Meredith?"

"Ms. Relena, Ms. Schbeicker is here and is asking to see you. She doesn't have an appointment either—"

I smiled. Meredith hated when the day didn't follow her agenda. She was as meticulous and as perfectionist as they came, and she had no qualms letting the world know she didn't appreciate their rudeness. 'Rudeness' being, of course, not calling in to arrange an appointment. "That's okay, Meredith. Mr. Barton was just leaving, anyway. Give me five minutes, then send Hilde in–and could you please bring us some coffee? You'd be my hero forever."

Meredith's laugh was soft and girly, and I knew the petite woman had to be blushing. "Will do."

I sighed when the line was terminated; perfect, just what I needed—to be drilled for something this stupid at ten in the morning by a self-proclaimed 'neglected' and furious best friend. I won't even need to sit for long before said best friend screeches her head off at my actions. And she probably has every right; I would certainly die if one day I open the paper to find her wedding announcement.

I was suddenly aware of Trowa standing behind me, pressed so close to me I could clearly feel every single contour of his hard body. Every. Single. Contour. The edge of his teeth on my earlobe was tempting enough for me to surrender completely, but I had already done too badly in this game, I wasn't about to make things worse.

If he wants me in his bed, he'll have to work hard for it.

I stepped out of his embrace, incrementing the distance between us, allowing my body to cool down and my breath to go back to normal before Hilde walked in and my disheveled, breathless state would give what had just happened away. Trowa's eyes were still dark with unadulterated lust; his chest was slightly heaving and his lips were almost red and a little swollen from his fierce kisses. I imagine mine were the same, if not worse, and I hoped Hilde would not notice them.

"I think you should leave. I don't—" His face was passive; so calm and collected I felt the urge to hit him for looking so damn good. "Trowa, you have to understand I'm not interested in having a serious relationship… or any sort of relationship. I don't want to sleep with you, so I'll ask you to please stop this."

"Have you always been such a bitch or did you take classes?" I guess the shock must have shown on my face because he shook his head. "I didn't mean—"

Where did _that_ come from! What the hell was his problem? "Sorry to burst your bubble, Sparky, but I've always been a bitch. And I don't appreciate you manhandling me like a piece of meat. This… arrangement between us is a farce and I don't plan on marrying you; I'm not even planning on staying engaged for too long. We will not live together and I will not change my life because of this. Now, if you'd please leave, I have things to do." By the end of my speech, I reached to open the door, leaving all subtleties and politeness aside; I had dug my nails into my palms trying to keep myself from cussing him out of my office. Something like 'I have things to do, so get the fuck out' kept running endlessly back and forth on my tongue.

He stood for a second or two without uttering a word, still as a stone, before he jerked into motion and left my office in a couple of long smooth strides, his gaze completely avoiding mine. I didn't even have time to close the door and give in to the feral desire of sagging against the wooden panel when Hilde walked in, her bright red stilettos drumming a sexy staccato against the dark marble floor. She carried a folded newspaper under her arm and as soon as she reached my desk, she slammed it right down next to Krista's—both with 'the article' folded out.

"Okay," she plopped down on the couch, dropping her purse to the floor. "Now, I've given this some thought since I bought the paper 15 minutes ago, and I've decided I'm just going to let you talk."

I bit down a smile as I closed the door behind me. Hilde Schbeicker; I met her four years ago at NYU because she was hungry, and every time I tell someone this story, I have to assure them that, no, I'm not kidding. We had been sitting in class waiting for our International Investments Analysis professor to come, and the 10 minutes I endured in that room had been torture; she couldn't stop complaining every other minute about how hungry she was, how she hadn't eaten anything all day, how she didn't have any money to _'buy a freaking crumb!'_. So, I had taken pity on her—well, actually it was more to shut her up—and offered her a gum.

Since then, we've become inseparable. She's the kind of classic, dark-haired beauty who walks into a room and everyone freezes around her, agape and in awe of being in the same breathing corner with her. Petite, but with enough attitude to make up for her lack of height, Hilde is a menace that I'm proud to be friends with.

"Who the hell am I kidding?" She snapped, pointing angrily at the mangled newspaper resting on my desk. "Explain that right now! It's true, isn't it? That was Trowa I saw coming out of your office… and looking quite rumpled, if you ask me."

I moved to sit at the other end of the sofa, tucking a leg beneath me as I turned to look at her. "I'm not asking you. Krista broke up with him a few minutes ago and apparently she left with a bang… Unluckily for him, it wasn't the kind of 'bang' he was expecting."

Hilde winced even if a smile still etched her lips. "Ouch," but she didn't sound the least bit sympathetic. "I didn't know they were dating officially; I mean, he went with Alexandra Tsavaras to Tom Ford's Christmas party at the Plaza… So, wait… Are you saying Krista found out…"

I was already nodding, confirming her half enquiry when someone knocked once on the door and then Meredith squeezed her head in. "Excuse me, here is your coffee. I apologize for the delay." She pushed the door open with her knee, balancing our coffees in a small black tray which she place on the small table in front of us.

I smiled at her, as Hilde and I leaned over to take our mugs. "That's alright. Thank you, Meredith."

She nodded her head, a small smile on her lips as she turned around and left, shutting the door softly behind her.

"…yeah, she pretty much barged into my office this morning and demanded answers. I just can't believe Trowa never mentioned her!"

Hilde frowned, looking at me with a perplexed sparkle in her eyes. "So, wait. How long have you two been dating and why wasn't I notified about this?"

I laughed. "Well… It's a really long, sort of complicated story. Let's just say that our mothers cornered us into dating and tricked us into getting engaged."

"Do you have any idea how weird this sounds?"

She was laughing, and all I could do was narrow my eyes in mock-indignation. "Oh, believe me, I know. It turned up a few more notches when Trowa came knocking on my door early this morning with a newspaper in hand announcing to the whole world that we were engaged—pictures and all. Apparently Kara, Trowa's mother, has been trying to set him up with 'respectable' women for some time now."

Hilde sipped her coffee thoughtfully. "Hmm, sounds awfully familiar. My parents have been trying to set me up with this lanky guy… I think he's a hot-shot publicist or editor or something. Not going to happen."

I laughed. "What's up with parents these days? I mean, one, we're grown ups; I think we're old enough to make our own decisions; and two, this isn't the Middle Ages!... Hilde! What am I going to do? I just told him we're going to stay like this for approximately four to six months—how am I going to survive this? He's driving me crazy already, and it's only been the first day!"

Hilde chuckled; I can't believe she's laughing about something so serious. "Relena, seriously, come on! What's wrong with staying engaged to a man like Trowa Barton? Do you have any idea how many women in New York would kill to be you right now? You have to admit he's quite a catch."

I mimicked her tone; that haughty, overly confident yet mocking tilt she used when she wanted things to be done her way. "I have to admit nothing. You know me, Hilde; I'm going to go crazy before three months."

"Relena! What do you have against the man? It's not like he's got cooties or anything!"

I don't know what's wrong. I really don't. Why was I so afraid of diving into this commitment? It's not like it's real; I only have to fake I'm engaged to Trowa Barton for a few months, attend social gatherings with him, and then we break up and go back to our lives like nothing ever happened. Really, what could be so bad?

I sighed. We've been in this game for five years now. This whole attraction that only seemed to grow deeper every time I turned him down; he never faked nonchalance, never pretended he wasn't attracted to me, I just always found a way to move around him and keep on with my life. But that's all it is; I'm just someone he's attracted to, someone who's turned him down more times than it's considered healthy—healthy for his prime-time male ego. And that's the thing; I'm just a trophy to him. And I won't deny that I feel superior for not giving in to his advances because if one of the things that I'm aware of is that people talk. Just like I know that by tonight, half of Manhattan will know that Krista was dumped in the vilest way.

I would have been happy to go along with this charade had it been any other man; with any other man, I would feel like a goddess, completely in my element. Always in control. I manage to detach any emotional link to my surroundings, keeping my cool as I do and say what I please knowing they won't ever have the guts to refuse me anything… But with Trowa… It just is different. He makes me feel frustrated and excited at the same time; he's passionate and so deep unlike the shallow dimwits I'm used to dating.

I don't think I've ever felt this contradictory and confused. I don't know what to feel; how to feel. I know that if I let Trowa get to me, he'll shred me to pieces and then step over the remains of my dignity, and by the way I feel, or better yet, given the way he makes me feel when he talks to me or touches me, I know I'll allow him anything. I'm weak and oh-so-pathetic when I'm with him. The saddest thing is that I know and accept all this.

It's like that guy you like when you're in high school, but you're just content with the attraction; you don't have any intentions of pursuing anything because you're positive it would never work. It's more or less like trying to teach an old bird to talk; it's hard and nearly impossible, and after a while, you just get tired and give it up. That's how Trowa is; he will never change his ways; he will always be a womanizer. I had given up on him, had decided to just give up to this stupid attraction I felt towards him since the day we met… I curse my mother for putting me in this situation; curse her for making me face all these feelings I had buried long ago.

Curse her, damn it! And curse Kara, too, just for good measure.

"You're beating this poor bush to death, Relena, now spill it! I want to know how it happened!" Hilde's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. "And show me that rock!"

* * *

"Next time, we're getting a cab." I grumbled irritably, shivering as the cold January air bit into the skin of my legs, our heels clicking a symphonic against the sidewalk. "Leave it to you to drive a car in New York City, Dorothy." 

We had to park kilometers—miles!—away from El Pomodoro; it was a miracle we had found a space at all. But that was Dorothy, alright, totally brazen and a risk-taker. Driving in New York? Only if you wanted to die of suffocation while stuck in traffic.

"Ah, Relena, lighten up; it was fun. Plus, I hate cabs; they're filthy and there's always the risk of you breaking something by the way they… can it even be called 'driving'?" she drawled with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

We finally made it to El Pomedoro, this small restaurant stuck in a niche between a bookstore and a gift shop; you could easily overlook it since it was so small, tucked between two equally small shops, but very expensive—the quiet, exclusive and pricey kinds of restaurants billionaires like Quatre Winner preferred.

Now, Quatre Winner has always been a mystery to me, I must confess. I used to hear countless stories his sisters droned on and on endlessly back at boarding school, speaking wonder upon wonder of their younger and only handsome brother. But even through all the storytelling I had to endure during those few years, I had never even had a glimpse of him. He had always been like this sort of figure, you know, the kind of person you've heard so much about you feel you actually know him, but he's still a complete and literal stranger to you.

Quatre Winner… It was a shame I had met him under such circumstances. Have you ever felt like you've met someone you clicked with in so many deep and diverse ways, you know he's the one for you? I used to think Quatre was that man for me. We had so many things in common; we came from the same backgrounds, we were both passionate about our jobs, single-minded beings who strove for success. At one point, I had been more than willing to take the risk and go with it, you know, get to know each other on a much deeper level—on a more personal level.

I guess I've always been afraid… I'm not sure of what exactly I'm afraid, but I've always had reservations regarding any sort of serious relationships.

And lately, more than often I've found myself comparing Quatre's boyish good looks to Trowa's devil-may-care, debonair quality with his 'I am too sexy for this world, could you give Satan a call?' philosophy. And while I am sure any sort of relationship with Quatre will be a guarantee of a life-long commitment, I know that with Trowa, though bumpy, it would be one hell of a ride.

It's the classic paradigm: choosing the bad boy who will certify your living on the edge on a daily basis. And while I know it would be fun and rejuvenating, it would also be painful.

I've realized that along these five years I've worked in the company alongside Trowa, I've developed some sort of sentiment toward him, much deeper than whatever thing I thought I had towards Quatre. And yet, neither of them are possibilities; one is a client and the other a coworker.

Grand life of mine, dropping two guys into my life that I can't have.

And while being engaged to Trowa, even if it's against our will, will be hard and a test to my self-control. If I were to leave it to him, he would have married me, fucked me, cheated on me and divorced me in a single breath with a promise of a nightly visit now and then in remembrance of past good times. Just look at what he did to Krista; though I couldn't care less since I don't really know the woman, I sympathize with her. And that's just a crude, real proof of how frivolous Trowa really is; it's all about sex and having a good time for him; sentimentalities are discarded like garbage and put to freeze outside his window while he enjoys his latest lady friend.

What kind of woman in her right mind would submit herself—willingly—to such treatment?

It kind of makes me admit what a hypocrite I am; to censure and condemn him in one breath for his foul behavior when mine's been almost or just as dire as his.

I guess I know the truth to my fear now… I think I'd prefer to stay in denial. People say that there's no love without fear or hate… People say that fearing or hating someone is a cruel and cold manifestation of love…

"Relena?" Quatre's arm around my waist as he leaned in close startled me. His blue-green eyes flickered with concern as they looked straight into mine, and all I could do was stare dumbly in return. "Bring me a glass of water!" He barked demandingly to someone to his left, taking me by the arm and helping me into my seat.

He really was an enigma. I wanted to know what he really thought of this 'engagement'. Why would he look almost disappointed when I told him I didn't want to stretch it for too long? Why would he get so easily upset with simple truths? Most likely he just got upset that he wouldn't get to fuck me for as long as he probably wants to. That's what all this is about, now that I come to think of it.

In love with Trowa Barton? And then, all I could think of was what happened earlier this morning at my office; the pressure of his body against mine, the passion in his face, the lust in his eyes, the brutal evidence of his body. It all meshed into one multicolored work of lustful art in my mind and crashed into the emptiness inside my heart. Empty… I could never love someone like Trowa Barton.

I just couldn't allow myself to love someone like him. It would be self-destructive and I would only be lying to myself thinking sexual gratification is enough.

But then again, I'm just being foolish by even thinking this; I bet he's sitting on his ass right now, pretending to work while thinking which society babe he can screw next. I could very well suggest a 'no strings attached' deal to him but I don't think it would work right now seeing as we're already engaged.

I wanted to laugh, really laugh until I could no longer take it. How was I to think that I would enter the New Year engaged? How could I have foretold my mother's plan? It was all so ridiculous and, one would think, impossible; things like this don't happen in real life, right?

This time it was Dorothy who shook me, her face a mask of concern and impatience. "Relena, are you okay? Are you sick?"

I forced a smile to my lips, shaking my head as I reached for my briefcase and pulled a copy of the contract. "Not at all. Now, shall we?"

Diligent. Straight-forward. What was I thinking! I felt like laughing. Trowa will rue the day he tried to mess up my world. I guess I just needed a little ice-shock to bring me back to reality. I had been stupid enough to let him kiss me during New Year's, but to let him kiss me and… manhandle me like he did so freely this morning?

I smiled at Quatre's handsome, worry-filled face—so sexy and attractive; such a cultured gentleman.

Yes… It was time for some damage control.

_To be continued…_

* * *

**AN:** Hoho! I know you were expecting a major confrontation between Krista and Relena, but I'm just not good with cat-fights, and neither do I like them. In fact, I despise how women act so uncivilized when arguing over a man. Plus, Krista is a key player in this story and I just couldn't go ruining her character and credibility. 

Please review! Remember I'm a review whore and a constructive criticism addict and I need my continual dose. Don't make me suffer, please. I don't like pain.

**To reviewers:**

**Lay Hime:** Thanks for the review, hon. I'm glad you like this story so far, and I'm pretty happy with myself for keeping you on your toes. As for the offer, thanks. I'll probably send you an e-mail soon.

**Lixangel:** So, was this chapter sexy enough? I've got to admit, it went a little beyond on what I had planned, but I managed to salvage the situation, along with Relena's pride at the end. Thank God for small miracles. I thought the whole "Femme Fatale" deal was a little ridiculous, but then I realized it more than served my purposes… As for Quatre; expect to see him pretty soon. I have major plans for him, He IS too hot to ignore… I can't be that evil. Dorothy will suffer a bit, as will Trowa and Relena… just not in the same measure and by the same hands… Anyway, thanks again for remaining faithful to my story, Lix, you make me happy like woah.


	5. The Fisher People

**Her Wicked Ways**  
By Andrea Sinisterra  
Romance  
Rated PG-13  
_Standard Disclaimers Apply_

**Author's Notes:** Well, here's the next chappie! Sorry I took so long, I've been quite busy with finals and work; plus some really head-cracking personal issues I'm going through right now have me doing the round on Cloud 9. I've already started on chapter six, so the wait won't be long. I've also started working on another GW fic, this time a 1xR that I'm planning on submitting for a challenge. It's about 1xR being somehow 'lost'… Only I didn't take it quite… canon. Let's see how that one goes.

**Special Thanks: **to GG and Aleida for beta-reading. Thanks, sweets.

**Disclaimer: **A few things: 1) The musical Wicked does not belong to me, I just used it for this story's purpose and nothing else. Any comment made on it is my personal opinion and based off some critics I found on the net. 2) Scott Bryan does not, I repeat, does not belong to me. He's a real life person, which leads me to point out that, 3) Veritás is a real restaurant and is really owned by Scott Bryan and Gino Diaferia. 4) Veritás real pastry chef is Dalia Jurgensen. 5) Another thing, I don't live in the US, so if you find anything wrong, be nice to me; I've been doing my research, but sometimes you can't trust the sources. 6) I looked into the families that were in the Mayflower, and Chilton really is a way-back name. Barton and Peacecraft were not in that list (well, duh), but you'll just pretend they are.

**Warnings:** Heavy flirting everywhere; shock; curse words here and there.

* * *

**Part 5**

"So I asked Quatre to come with me on Thursday."

Billy—a nickname I had secretly come up for Wilhelmina Monahan—shook her head as she relaxed back on the leather chair in front of me. "You're playing with fire, Relena. Are you aware of the repercussions this will bring?" Billy continued to shake her head, smiling lightly. "The media will have a field day."

I laughed; she had hit it on the nose. That was exactly what I wanted. "Well, it's only a date to the theatre; I don't think there's much harm in it. And anyway, just because Trowa and I have an arranged engagement—marriage—whatever… it doesn't mean we can't socialize."

Billy nodded this time, her tightly-coiled ash blonde hair catching the low lamplights. "Now, tell me what happened earlier today. You mentioned something about Trowa kissing you…"

I recounted everything that happened that morning, from the instant I found him inside my apartment, till the moment he left my office before Hilde walked in. Billy praised him for his fine taste when I showed her the Tiffany ring he gave me, shaking her head once again as if she couldn't believe all that was happening.

"And it's been only how many days?"

"Technically, three, and we still have months to go."

She nodded, writing something on her yellow legal pad. "How do you feel about your mother after this? Do you feel any resentment, bitterness…?"

I could never hate my mother. I knew that despite all her scheming, she really just wanted what was best for me. Her methodology was very old-fashioned and unconventional, downright manipulative, but I knew she did it with the best of intentions. I've taken a few hours to think about it, over and over, and it really wasn't so bad. After reevaluating my participation in the last battle, which I undoubtedly lost, I knew now how to successfully wage and win the war. It could be lots of fun, highly entertaining and pleasurable if I played my cards right. Drown him in his own medicine. I knew he was taking advantage of this arrangement, since he never succeeded in having me, which—even though I know it sounds too cocky—it's the whole truth.

"Not really," I answered after a moment's silence. "Truthfully, now that I've had time to think things over, I believe she made me a huge favor. Now I can get over this stupid infatuation I've always had with that wretched man much faster and smoothly. I should be thanking her for her astuteness."

"You are a really interesting character, Relena." Billy chuckled softly. After a pause, her voice turned grave as she removed her glasses and let them rest on her lap. "Why do you despise Trowa so much?"

"Because he reminds me of myself," I said unconsciously, the words spilling from my lips without any previous thought.

Billy pushed her glasses back onto her nose before giving two curt nods as she scribbled something on her pad. "Lay back." She instructed lightly.

I complied mindlessly, too hung up on the words I had just uttered to present much of a fuss. I relaxed against the leather cushions, the fabric hissing in protest as it gave way under my weight.

"Now, close your eyes and breathe in deeply…"

I frowned before closing my eyes. "You're not going to hypnotize me or anything like that, are you?"

"No," she replied sternly. "Now, control your breathing. Let the oxygen fill your lungs and then let it out completely… Feel your shoulders relax… Breathe in again… Concentrate on your body; feel its gradual relaxation… Breathe out…"

I continued to breathe in and out rhythmically, feeling myself no longer focusing on the synchronized pattern but on the effects it had on my body. I felt utterly boneless; a kind of deep, smooth peacefulness settling on my bones as I felt all the weariness and stress of my life leave me in seconds.

"Tell me, Relena," she began after a minute or so, her voice soft and melodic as she tried not to disrupt the quiet and calmness she had created around me. "Why do you hate yourself so much?"

"Because I'm a bitch and I don't mind… I don't think that's a good thing."

She kept quiet for a few seconds, and I continued to measure my breathing because I refused to open my eyes and see her expression.

"But why do you hate yourself?" She asked again.

I sighed deeply, sinking even further into the cushions. "Because I use people for my own purposes. I've never had a real relationship with a man and I don't mind. I have only two friends, and we rarely talk. My butler acts more like a parent than my mother and father. And I've never minded. I spend most of my time attending social events on the hand of some asshole who's only counting the hours till we leave so he can screw me to his heart's content. And I don't mind. In fact, I think I unconsciously look for men like that."

"Keep breathing…" I heard the rustle of paper as she flipped the page of her pad.

"I know…" I stopped for a moment, trying to collect my thoughts into some semblance of order. "Deep inside, I know my mother is aware of the lifestyle I lead… I think that's why she's resorted to this… fiasco. She wants me to settle down before I do something stupid like getting pregnant and hitting the news. My parents take real pride in our family's name and Mayflower reputation and the last thing they want or need is their daughter tainting that image." I took a deep breath, opening my eyes only to stare at the ceiling. "My parents are real close to Trowa's parents… I think Kara Barton is having the same kind of concern… I guess this is why they've resorted to marrying us off to prevent any sort of humiliating gossip and thus ensuring we keep our family's high social standards. You must understand all this, seeing as you're a Chilton."

Wilhelmina Chilton Monahan took off her glasses with a start, and I could only smile at the look on her face. "How did you—"

"You were at the New Year's party in Martha's Vineyard, were you not?"

I couldn't help myself as I laughed at the sheepish look on her face.

* * *

"You are missing the whole purpose to the story!" Giselle, Quatre's youngest sister, said heatedly, clearly frustrated as she tried to get her point across.

Quatre was already shaking his head, taking a small sip of his cabernet sauvignon, swirling the passionate liquid in his goblet. "Let's be realistic here, Gigi; 'Wicked' paints Oz as a place under totalitarian rule by the Wizard; class systems are set up; the Emerald City is a snake-pit full of different factions fighting for control; the schooling system is an organized attempt to indoctrinate and recruit impressionable youths to support the status quo; the tiktoks are a slave race, and the talking animals are systematically discriminated by the government." Quatre leaned his forearms on the table, looking at Giselle who sat across him. "Are you really going to tell me this 'fairytale' isn't some sort of vulgarized attempt at showing the misfit and almost impossible congenialities between power and love?"

Giselle looked taken aback, blinking rapidly before she leaned forward as well. "You are still missing the whole point! Elphaba and Glinda were best friends, and Glinda gave Fiyero up so he could be with Elphaba! I think it's amazing how they overcame all the overwhelming corruption that clouded around them and managed to survive, overpowering the powerful."

I smiled at her intentional redundancy, even if I disagreed with her point. "But that's the thing; if it wasn't for Glinda's obtuse and foolish attempts at being popular and accepted, none of that would have happened. She envied Elphaba—she always did. And it wasn't till near the end, when Fiyero and Elphaba were in real danger, that Glinda realized Fiyero never loved her. She was a betraying, jealousy-driven, imprudent child who wanted everything her way and delivered in silver platters. I'm glad she never knew Elphaba and Fiyero were alive…"

"I don't think this is a story about friendship," I continued. "I mean… Glinda never really accepted Elphaba for who she really was. Only when Elphaba seemed to help her with the Wizard, did Glinda start being nice with her. Glinda was manipulative and was only interested in her personal gain. She never had any common ground with Fiyero; she only liked him because he was a prince, thus rich and handsome. She treated poor Boq like shit, she never cared for the animals, she didn't care for anyone but herself… and you clearly see it when she sells Nessarose out to the Wizard and Madam Morrible. And while I'm at it, I think that last song is way overrated. Anyway, it's true that Elphaba did many good things, she helped Glinda in diverse ways in different occasions… but when did Glinda help—truly help Elphaba out? In fact, it was because of Glinda that Elphaba doubted herself, thinking that all her good deeds only caused havoc." I laughed, shaking my head. "Which is incredibly ironic since Elphaba was supposed to be the Wicked Witch of the West, but it was Glinda who preached, practiced and induced her wicked methodology."

"You're just defending Elphaba because you enjoy being wicked." Quatre cut in teasingly, succeeding in adding a light tone to the conversation and thus ending the debate.

Quatre had suggested dinner at Veritas since the long musical dosing had left us quite hungry, strung up and in dire need of some alcohol in our systems. It wasn't long after our arrival, the Maitre showing us to seats even without any prior reservations—the great assets of being Quatre Winner—that Scott Bryan, the chef and co-owner of Veritas showed up to our table, smiling and warmly clapping Quatre on the back.

"Bryan, you remember my sister, Giselle?"

Scott smiled a disarmingly charming smile, one that pulled at the edges of his rugged, sexy lips. What's up with handsome men, lately? It seems they're everywhere! "It would be hard to forget such a lovely face."

Giselle smiled calmly, nodding her head demurely as she shook hands with the chef. "Charmer."

"And this is a friend of mine, Relena Peacecraft." It wasn't even a second later when Quatre, half-laughing, half-seriously, added, "Hands off."

Scott pulled his hands up as if saying 'no harm intended', laughing as he bent down to kiss the back of my hand. "But of course I know who she is. It isn't the first time I've seen you here."

"It's quite a place you've got here; it would be a waste and a crime not to treat one's self to such delicious food on a regular basis." Bring the charm a notch up when you meet important people; it always repays you a thousand fold; you never know when you might need a favor.

"Ah, damn it to Hell!" He pulled back, a look of mock-pain on his face, a fist to his heart. "It's hard to find a woman who is not only beautiful, but has a great sense of humor and has no qualms complimenting my cooking skills." I could only laugh when he dropped to one knee, taking my right hand and pressing it to his chest, just over his heart. "Please, don't be cruel and say you'll marry me. I promise to cook you anything you wish for as long as we both shall live."

"I thought food was the means to get to a man's heart. I don't think it works quite the same for women, Mr. Bryan. Perhaps new tactic maneuvers should be implemented."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, before he was up on his feet, crossing his wide arms over his equally broad chest. "It's Scott, first of all; and as for my proposal… I think I'll have to get back to you. I need to regroup and re-strategize. As for now," he looked disappointed as he slightly bowed his head at us, pointing somewhere behind him. "I have to go back to work. Can't take the risk of my kitchen blowing up in flames because then, with what would I coerce you into marriage?"

* * *

I yawned as I leaned back on the limousine's leather seat, exhausted and feeling languorous after such a delightful meal. Scott Bryan really was an excellent chef; his version of seared fois gras, crisp sweetbreads, seared diver scallops and lobster bathed in a thick sherry sauce was something short of bliss. Add to this several glasses of a 1999 bottle of Chateau d'Quem sweet wine. We also had the pleasure of meeting Amelia Charpentier, the pastry chef, who was more than delighted in ordering for us, serving a peanut butter and chocolate tart for Giselle, cherry and vanilla compote for Quatre, and a ricotta tart with fresh raspberries and lime sherbet for me.

I groaned as I moved to reach for my handbag, too full after such a meal. It was perhaps the fifth or sixth time my cell-phone had rung during the evening; the first two and only times I checked, it was my mother, probably wanting to bleed some opinion or information out of me, or to throw in an invitation—which in reality are always obligatory—to some society bash or to a small, quiet private dinner which always involved over 10 couples.

I frowned when I saw the caller ID registered 'private number'. I didn't know too many people with restricted numbers; as opposed to common opinion, most people, unless they wanted to hide something, didn't go through the trouble of making private their cell phone numbers—for example, my mother, as well as every other single society matron, didn't like to restrict access to their numbers since it's sort of a free publicity. I mean, who wouldn't jump with the thrill of receiving a call from the all-mighty Ericka Peacecraft?

"Relena Peacecraft here," I said once I flipped the top lid of my cell-phone off.

"Relena…" God, even his voice exuded sex appeal. I could feel the all too familiar tingles crawl from my toes into my stomach, feeling the heat surge into my chest and face to what I knew was a very deep, embarrassing blush. "Good evening."

I laughed. "My, who would've thought you were such a polite gentleman under all that chauvinistic bravado? You had me fooled; congrats on a job well done."

He chuckled deeply as his breath fanned the line. "I aim to please. Especially when it's such a sexy beauty I'm aiming to impress."

We hadn't really talked much after the incident in my office Monday morning; he still came over to my apartment every morning to pick me up, but we had managed, quite successfully, to keep our conversations impersonal and almost professional.

"To what do I owe this unexpected call of yours?"

"Well, we haven't really discussed how we're going to go about this 'engagement'," he made the last word sound funny, and I could only smile at the mirth in his voice. "But, according to societal protocol, we do need to attend to some events together, you know."

He was right… I had been so worried about trying to keep myself safe from him I had not paid any attention to all the social functions we both attended. Being now engaged, it was proper—not to add, expected—of us to go to these things as a couple. As an official couple. "Well… So far I don't have any function scheduled, except for Saturday's fundraiser; but since we're both obliged to go, I kind of thought it went beyond mentioning."

"That's why I was calling… Look, my sister's back from France and she's having this small gathering at her house on Saturday morning and since she caught wind of the news of our engagement, courtesy of my mother, of course, she explicitly required your presence. Now, I was thinking we could go, spend two or three hours there… Then I could meet you at your apartment and head together to the hotel."

I smiled at his tittering. "Wow, all these plans and on such a short notice… I'll have to check my agenda. I'm a busy woman, Trowa."

He sighed heavily; however, his voice was still light and amused. "Just be ready. I'll pick you up at 10."

"I'll be ready."

We hung up just as Quatre kissed his sister goodnight and came through the crystal doors of her apartment building. He said a goodnight to the doorman before he crept inside the limousine, sitting beside me with a heavy and tired sigh.

"Jesus… What a day…" He muttered under his breath, running artistic fingers through his fair hair; his masculine jaw—chiseled and perfect—twitched with a perceptible tic, denoting his stress and exhaustion. He jerked forward, suddenly, readying two shots of whiskey and then handing me one glass. "So, you ready for Saturday's auction?"

I frowned. "Auction?"

He nodded, a small smile turning the corners of his lips in a cute, yet disarmingly sexy smirk. He sipped a long drink from the amber-colored elixir. "Yes. They're auctioning several female employees from different publishing, marketing and financial firms around the block to the highest bidder to raise funds for the St. John's Queens' new obstetrics ward. I hear it's this year's newest buzz. Apparently they wanted to bring it up a notch." He shrugged.

Well, it's not like I made it a point to be up-to-date with the company's gossip column. I just get the invitations. "Well, I was aware this was a charity function, I just wasn't aware there was an auctioning to boot—I had no idea."

"I imagined."

I frowned; was there something I didn't know? But it was of no point asking since the stealthy-looking limousine came to a stop in front of my apartment building, the driver coming around to open the door for us.

Quatre stepped out first, holding out a hand to help me. He bent my arm gently and nestled my hand in the crook of his elbow, leading me into the brightly lit lobby.

"I had a really great time, Mr. Winner."

He shook his head, a small smile gracing his lips. His eyes held mischief, the mirth in them making them sparkle brilliantly like ocean gems. "I still can't understand why you can't call me 'Quatre'; am I really that unattractive?"

I laughed at the mocked confusion in his voice. "Let's just say it's my way of self-preservation and leave it at that, shall we?"

"Plus, I wouldn't want any jealous fiancés knocking on my door in the middle of the night, wanting to punch my face while calling me all the hell-bound adjectives one could possibly find in the dictionary, right?"

Ah, I had been wondering when he was going to bring that one up. "See? It's a way-around self-preservation instinct. Quite worldly, might I add."

He laughed. "You truly are unique, Ms. Peacecraft; it's such a shame you're already taken." He shook his head as we came to a stop somewhere near the elevators. "Serves me right for stalling. Now I'll just have to wait around and see what happens; it's amazing the things one can find out through the media. Those newspaper robots sure do their job."

I nodded, smiling at his obvious flirting. "Well, you should know; they wouldn't waste their breaths and time on someone so little and unimportant as me, when there are such thrilling stories about the all-powerful Winner Ltd mogul. Quite the catch, I've heard."

His eyes turned smoldering in a second, his voice dropping a few decibels to whisper huskily, "just waiting, quite patiently, for the right fisherman… or in this case, fisher-woman."

For a moment, I didn't know what to say. So, I opted for making light of the argument. "The ball's still rolling… It hasn't decided yet on a courtside, Mr. Winner. Plus, it's quite a great sea, out there, I'm sure there's quite a number of fisher-women at the ready for the championship. The winner takes it all, we'll just have to wait and see who turns out victor."

He reached for my hand, caressing his lips over my knuckles, never breaking eye contact. "Patience is a virtue, I've heard, and I'm the patient among the patient, Relena. Besides, remember balls tend to bounce and eventually drop… Let's see whose side of the court it decides to stop on. Life is a casualty, I've always believed. Coincidence is overrated, patience is gold, and the most perseverant survives—and wins the prize, of course."

* * *

Trowa did not come to pick me up the next Friday morning as he usually did, so I left on my own, stopping by the newspaper stand as I returned to the routine before Trowa had—against my will—barged into it. I stopped for coffee and then flagged a cab, giving the driver the address as I flipped mindlessly through the paper.

Since the scandalous news of our engagement, I had made it a point to always check the local/social announcements, not wanting whatever incongruence the 'media' could come up to catch me unawares.

I stared blankly at the picture before me, not knowing for sure what it really meant.

_"Trouble in Paradise? Peacecraft takes a dive into 'business'"_

What's up with these reporters and stupid, nonsense headlines? I made it a point to ignore the relevance of the 'dive' part, from my conversation with Quatre last night I could not take the whole nautical idea from my mind. Are coincidences really overrated?

Below the artless, not-really-creative, and absurdly unoriginal headline was a picture of Quatre and I coming out from the theatre, and I noticed, to my utter dismay, that they had conveniently cut Giselle out from the picture. Vultures. I snapped the paper shut in my disgust, not really in the mood to read the article and what lies it spurred about our alleged 'romance'.

Another thought, one that came to my mind late last night at Quatre's rather cryptic words and that had been bothering me incessantly, jumped to the front of my consciousness as I entered the office building. I greeted Rob distractedly as I made my way to the executive floor, going directly to the bulleting board, intent on finding anything that would describe something about tomorrow night's gala. I hadn't heard of any auction when they delivered the invitation to my desk, some weeks ago, and neither had I heard any rumors of who was being auctioned off to spend a night with some stranger.

Imagine my surprise, ladies and gentlemen, when I settled my eyes on the rather small, almost invisible list of names clipped to the bottom left corner, as if wanting to disappear in the myriad of memos, flyers and miscellaneous announcements.

Kate Borrows  
Dorothy Catalonia  
Amanda Madison  
Stephanie Mayer  
Delia Peters  
Anna Sedelmeier  
Linda Winslow  
Relena Peacecraft

Now, if one followed the pattern, one would notice the list was supposed to be in an alphabetical order… Not to mention my name was scribbled by hand, as opposed to the neat computer font the memo was typed and printed into… And what if I mention I can clearly recognize the cynic scrawl?

So, the bastard had nominated me as a proffering to auction off without my permission? Stabbing in the back was his style; I don't know why I'm so surprised. I should have expected this from him.

The funny thing was that Quatre knew. Perhaps they had sent a list attached to the invitations and mine conveniently got lost? But I wasn't one to sit and wait for doom to sweep over my remains…

I kept to myself all day, trying my damnedest to stay in my office and not have to look at the cocky, arrogant, self-centered, handsome, and yet, cynic face of my 'fiancé'. Let him enjoy this moment, it was, after all, the calm before the storm. Never had an adage sounded more profitable and real before in my life. Except the one that said people get turned on when angry; that one is absolutely, remorsefully true.

I reached for my phone, calling Tristan Barton's extension. I could only smile as I waited, patiently, for him to pick up.

* * *

Saturday rolled around sooner than I expected; the wonder of relativity at its best.

Hilde had called me mid-afternoon yesterday, half in hysterics, announcing she had run out of dresses to wear. She also mentioned having met some guy and that she was bound on making him piss his pants at the merciless strike of her beauty once he laid eyes upon her. Her words, not mine. So, we had jumped head-first into the ruthless traffic and commotion that is 5th Avenue at five o'clock on a Friday afternoon, spending hours upon hours perusing racks, trying on clothes, driving salesclerks stark mad, drinking coffee and still managing it all with stilettos and unscathed pantyhose. Quite an accomplishment, if I do say so myself.

We both ended up buying more than we had originally anticipated, because not only did you buy a dress, or _the_ dress in this case, but also the shoes, purse, and other accessories that have to go with it. I was determined to rock Trowa's socks; it was Hurricane Relena on a vendetta rampage. Long gone the calm, Saturday night Trowa will know not to mess with me.

It had been almost 10 o'clock when we finally emerged from some store—I had stopped looking at the names, having lost track of location and time, and honestly, not really caring—and, with growling stomachs, headed to the nearest fast-food joint, eager to dive into all the glory of burgers and fries.

We felt accomplished at our selections, as each of us had gushed with humor and with an almost evil, mean-spirited jest at the other's dress, knowing full well they more than met the highest of standards and were more than capable of fulfilling their purpose of rocking some few dwellers into kingdom come. Oh, the fun of our calamitous, wicked streaks.

Hilde had almost choked on a fry as it was making its way down her throat when I mentioned I was being auctioned off to the highest bidder at tomorrow's gala courtesy of one Trowa Barton, a.k.a. The Fiancé from the Pits of Hell. She had then laughed at my expense, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe the turns my life had been subjected to. It was like some sort of cheesy soap opera; a nightmare that was giving me a hard time, and I was dying to wake up from.

I also retold the unbelievable conversation I had with my mother, as she called me over the phone to demand information regarding the 'scandalous' and 'filthy' trash she found in the newspaper that morning. She couldn't believe how I allowed those 'blood-suckers' to prostitute me over every single publicity spam and still be happy with it. Well, the only time I had been upset about anything they posted about me had been her doing. Of course, I wasn't about to tell her that, even if I was dying to.

She hadn't even finished droning about family reputation when she did a complete 180° to gush excitedly about my 'date' with 'that Quatre, he's such a handsome boy' Winner. And of course she would be pleased if I decided to start dating Quatre Winner, he was, after all, way over the Barton's in the social ladder, and my mother was hardbound on climbing it beyond the stratosphere.

I could only laugh now, as I waited for the aforementioned devil to pick me up as ten o'clock loomed even closer. I stopped the incessant tapping of my boot's heel on the hardwood floor, feeling fidgety and self-conscious of my attire. Trowa hadn't really disclosed the nature of this jaunt, so I had opted for jeans—you can't really go wrong with jeans—topping it with a sleeveless turtleneck made of thick, intricately woven soft cream yarn. It was casual and yet, elegant at the same time, but I wasn't really sure what was the purpose of this rather spontaneous shindig, and I, for some unknown reason, wanted to cause a good impression on Trowa's sister.

I knew very little of the woman, only aware of general facts about her. She was Trowa's only sibling, older by around 4 or 5 years; she had gone to Marseilles to live and study culinary arts almost from the time I met Trowa for the first time. She was referred to as the black sheep in the Barton family—a paradox in itself seeing how Trowa is; imagine if Trowa is considered a menace to his family, I could only imagine her sister—reason why she wasn't mentioned often in conversations. Apparently she had fallen in love with a bad boy when she was in high-school, where she had opted, against everyone's will, especially her mother's, to assist to a public school. That's where she met this boy, but Kara had sent her off to live with some relative she had in Europe, to salvage what little pride— according to the oft misguided matron—and to learn the ways a society lady should master.

What a dark and cruel little world we live in.

Three sharp knocks on the door made me jump almost three feet high in surprise as I was abruptly jolted from my musings.

"I'll be right out." I called as I scrambled around the living room for my purse and keys, wrenching open the door when he insisted on pounding—probably to drive me crazy—and I was stopped cold at the sight of Trowa, standing nonchalantly on my doorstep, looking as if the world would stop dead-tracked to worship him on their knees.

I refused to give him the pleasure of having my eyes travel down his body to check him out, opting for rolling my eyes in annoyance as I turned to lock the door behind me. "You're such a nuisance. Didn't you hear me? There was no need to keep up with the knocking."

He shrugged, smirking boyishly. "I like to rile you up; you're hot when you're riled up. Angry really works for you."

I glared at him as we made our way to the elevator, hitting the button harshly. "You're disgusting."

"Now, come on; you know it's true. You have to be aware of the effect you have in men; you can't be that naïve." He stopped for a moment, at the same time as the elevator chimed with its arrival. He continued as we stepped into our lift. "I take that back…entirely. You're not naïve." He snorted, shaking his head. "You're everything but naïve; a bad girl in disguise is more like it."

"Can we please move on onto more interesting, rational and intellectual topics of conversation? And preferably, one that has nothing to do with me."

He chuckled. "You're no fun."

"I never said I was." I fired back, impatient as the elevator took forever to reach the foyer. Why did I have to live in the highest freaking floor?

"Perhaps, fun not in humor… Fun… in other situations?" He said huskily, quite clearly prostrating his devious meaning.

Finally, the thing chimed again and I was out in a flash but not before retaliating. Oh, the quirks of a fast tongue. "Pity you'll never be able to find out."

I was a few steps away from him, but his words easily traveled the air. "Don't be so sure about that, 'honey'."

Wisely deciding to ignore his comment, I stepped out onto the chilly street, waiting for him to join me. He pulled my arm and placed my hand on the crook of his elbow as he walked me to his parked Cayenne, opening the passenger door for me with a funny and rather out-of-character flourish.

One would think a man with Trowa Barton's profile would own an amazingly small, exotic and expensive sports car… Well, expensive it was… I loved his car. It was the second time I had been in it, and I savored, against my will, the scent of aftershave and pure male prowess that was infused into the leather seats—a scent that was distinctively Trowa's.

It was almost an hour later when we finally made it to Long Island. Fortunately enough, I had brought a hair band with me, as the chilly wind had been merciless as it whipped harshly against our faces and hair on the ferry.

That feeling of self-consciousness came back full force as we stood before a beautiful two-story house on Glen Clove, waiting patiently for someone to open the door. It wasn't even two minutes later when a man pulled the door open quite abruptly and unexpectedly, a huge grin adorning his chubby face.

He spread his arms wide open and pulled Trowa into his embrace, lifting him clearly off the floor as Trowa laughed and slapped his hands in a familiar, comfortable manner on the other man's broad back.

"Gerard, man!" Trowa laughed as he was finally let down. "It's been ages!"

"Eons, my friend. Eons. Is it just me, or are you taller than the last time I saw you?" The man countered back in thick English, an accent very prominent.

Trowa laughed. "I don't think so; you're the one who's shrinking."

"That must be it, then." The man, Gerard, laughed before he settled his friendly green eyes on me. "Ah, you must be the lovely mademoiselle that has my equally lovely Amelia up in an uproar. She's been sprouting recipes since she found out this lad was getting married. Relena, right? I'm Gerard, Amelia's husband and this lad's brother-in-low to my complete disgrace, I assure you."

I laughed, completely taken off guard at their merry banter. The smile was still etched on my lips, and it was probably going to stay there for the rest of the day; this man was truly endearing. "It's a pleasure."

"I have to say, though, you deserve an ovation, lady, you've managed the impossible." He smiled sweetly, casting a long side-glance at Trowa. "Getting this one married?" He snorted before he motioned for us to follow him into the house, all the way as he whistled the Mission Impossible tune.

I could only laugh. This man had managed to set me at ease effortlessly with his witty humor, and his ability to interact with Trowa in such a manner they seemed like brothers was quite a pleasing surprise. I had never before seen Trowa so at ease, so relaxed, like he had no care in the world. It was refreshing to say the least.

We passed the living room which opened to a huge terrace with swings and a small sandbox; toys were scattered everywhere, from small, red wagons to plastic shovels and beach balls. There were boxes everywhere, some were halfway unpacked, others, still wrapped in plastic and tape.

"Where is she?" A woman's voice squealed from somewhere in the back of the house; most likely Trowa's sister after just finding out I was here. I swear I felt like a celebrity. If they only knew just how 'real' our engagement was.

Imagine my surprise when Trowa's sister, Amelia, barged through the doors, only to come to a shocked halt.

I recognized her immediately as the Veritás pastry chef I met two nights ago, Amelia Charpentier. She had been all charm and smiles then, but now, as she assessed me with narrowed eyes, all warmth had been swept away only leaving the cold skeleton of a woman.

I couldn't help but feel put off by her sudden change in attitude as her stare was downright hostile, and I was left wondering why. I smiled either way as the oblivious Gerard walked to his wife, wounding an arm around her waist as he gestured towards me.

"Amelia, I hereby present to you our prodigy, Relena Peacecraft, the woman who has succeeded the impossible." He smiled as Amelia stepped forward, extending her hand to shake it formally with mine.

"A pleasure," she said coolly, smiling briefly before she turned to look at Trowa, her smile widening in happiness. "And look at you!"

Trowa smiled fondly, drawing her into a bear hug, lifting her off the floor as he laughed. "Look at you! You are looking even more stunning than ever." He caressed her face tenderly, laying a hand on her cheek. "It's good to see you again, Ames. When did you get back?"

"Oh, about a week ago. It's been pretty hectic, but thankfully, everything has been going smoothly."

"She found a job already!" Gerard beamed proudly, kissing Amelia's temple warmly.  
Trowa smiled again. "That's great. I hope something in the restaurant industry; you didn't go all the way to France for nothing."

Amelia laughed as she started towards the crystal doors that led to the outdoor terrace and pulled them opened, letting the warm breeze in. It was a breathtaking sight; the lawn was awash in a healthy Japanese grass as it surrounded the 15 meter pool. Beyond the patio, a white pickle fence marked the end of their property into a magnificent view of the Hempstead Harbor.

"Would you have expected any less from me?" She shook her head, her eyes meeting mine for a second before she settled her gaze on Trowa once again. "I'm working at this small restaurant, Veritás. I was referred to the chef, Mr. Bryan, and well… I started just last Wednesday, but I like it a lot. It's pretty exclusive and is in very high demand. We're always swamped to the hilt with customers."

Trowa nodded. "Yes, I've been there a few times. It's havoc trying to get reservations, though I'm a good friend of Scott, so it counts when you're in a rush to make reservations and everything's been booked."

I raised my eyebrows at that; such a small world; isn't it?

Amelia nodded before she changed the subject. "Well, you guys stay here while I go check the food." She then turned to look at me, the coolness back in her eyes. "Relena, why don't you join me so we can get better acquainted. There are many things that I'd like to ask you."

I wanted to frown at her invitation, but gave a cool smile in turn.

I nodded as I went to follow, but Trowa's voice stopped us. "Amelia, be nice. Don't go scaring her away."

I smiled at him and spoke up before Amelia could say anything. "Like I scare easily." The double-entendre met my expectations as Trowa smiled at my quip, but Amelia's eyes narrowed as she got the challenge in my words and eyes.

She did not hesitate once we entered the kitchen and she closed the swinging door behind us. She crossed her arms over her chest, her green eyes—frighteningly similar to Trowa's—narrowed as she looked at me.

"I don't take lightly when people play with my family's feelings." She paused for a beat before a malicious smile spread over her lips. "Especially when it's between my brother on the line and some bitch on fire."

First Krista, and now this? I laughed as I reached for a stool, hefting myself up on it. Oh, the humor of it all. "Please, there's no need to be crude."

"I'm only stating the truth." She glared once more before she turned her back on me as she began working on lunch. "You know what I'm talking about."

I shrugged even though she couldn't see me. I spoke out instead. "Clearly, I don't."

She snorted unladylike, shaking her head as she reached for a head of lettuce and started chopping. "Please, don't insult my intelligence. You very well know I saw you two nights ago at Veritás."

I still didn't get it; perhaps I was being thickheaded and didn't notice? "Yeah, so? I recognized you immediately when I saw you earlier, but clearly something's wrong as your attitude is completely opposite from that of two nights ago. Or maybe you're just bipolar and I haven't noticed?"

I couldn't just sit here and let her insult me while I just took the brunt with open arms.

"You know I saw you with Quatre Winner, and let me say you two looked quite cozy."

Oh, so that's what this is about. I laughed as I couldn't help the humor and stupidity of this entire argument. "Quatre Winner?"

"Relena, please, don't play dumb; I know well how very clever you are. I got to say, I'm quite impressed at your nonchalance about it all; going out in public with your lover when everyone knows you're engaged to my brother? Quite impressed, indeed."

"Well, not that I wouldn't jump at the chance of being Quatre Winner's lover, don't you think Trowa would have mentioned to you something about this, seeing as my 'rendezvous' hit the newspaper—or didn't you see it?" I continued, not being able to keep the laughter from my voice.

She whirled around, a knife in hand. I raised my eyebrows at that, the picture of her stabbing me to death was almost comical as it played across my mind's eye. "Oh, please, now you're going to tell me you're just friends? No woman is just friends with a man like Quatre Winner."

"The same could be said about your brother, don't you think?"

She relented easily, nodding. "True."

I laughed. I slid off the stool to go stand beside her, grabbing a knife and a tomato. I really had no intention of creating enmity between the two of us; for some reason, I liked her. Perhaps it was because of her past and the things she had to endure, or maybe because she really was just looking after her brother—even though he didn't deserve it—so I tried for some common ground. "We're just friends."

I could feel her gaze on me for a few seconds before she turned and moved to pick up an onion, chopping it into perfect round slides.

"Okay then." She said, obviously pleased with herself.

A beat later, we both burst out laughing at the hilarity of our conversation, shaking our heads in synchronicity as we continued to laugh while chopping vegetables.

"See?" We turned around at Gerard's voice; he was standing beside Trowa as they both peered at us from the doorway. "I told you they would hit it off right away."

Trowa's green gaze locked with mine and held it before a beautiful, sexy smile broke over his very tempting lips. "I never had a doubt."

* * *

_To be continued..._

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**To my reviewers:**

**Anya DeAngelo:** Thanks, sweetie! As for your question; I don't think so. I only have planned to include three gundam pilots; you've already seen two, and I think, after this chapter, you can pretty much guess who's the third. Just know that under –no- exception is Heero getting into this story. Nooo!

**Animei Yuya:** Well, I hope your 4xR hunger has been somewhat satiated after this chapter. As for the fight… I do have something planned between those two; I mean, how long can this story go without them facing each other? I love keeping you guys on your toes…

**Keating's Disciple:** Ah, yes, I've seen you on BI before… Yes, Trowa is my second best, right next to Heero, of course. I also think Trowa is too damn annoying; and after writing this chapter and knowing what I have planned for the next, my glaring at him only intensifies. But then again, that's what Quatre's here for, to calm things down… even if he, too, is as damn sexy as Trowa.

**Lixangel:** I believe that's one of life's greatest questions: What to do when faced by two handsome, equally charming and sexy men? Dilemma, dilemma. Anyway, you were the only one who picked up, or at least, the only person who mentioned Trowa's hurt attitude last chapter, so I thank you for noticing. It's hard to write about him, when I'm writing from Relena's POV. I hope the sexual tension in this chapter met your expectations—and buckle your seatbelts for the next one. Although, it might take some time in writing. My muse's away for the time being, you see.

**MissAnnThropy2600:** I haven't read many 3xR fics before, just two or three, which is one of the main reasons why I wanted to give this a shot. This story will have a lemon somewhere, just not anytime soon. I won't be posting it on seeing as how their policy won't admit anything above R/M, but I'll make sure to post the links in my bio. Thanks a bunch for your review!

**Sehri:** Thanks, sweetie! I hope you weren't disappointed with this chapter.

**FireDevaKitsuneKarma:** Thanks, hon. As for last chapter's inner thoughts… Well, it's kind of impossible not to write Relena's thoughts seeing as this is written for her POV of things, in other words, her perception of things. I hope you think there was more dialogue in this chapter, (I'm not really good writing dialogue), I tried my best. Anyway, thanks for taking the time to read and review; I love it!


	6. The Auction

**Her Wicked Ways  
**By Andrea Sinisterra  
Romance  
Rated PG-13  
_Standard Disclaimers Apply_

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay! So sorry! I now have two more people under my charge, and interviewing has taken up a lot of my time, making work more hectic! Also, a new system upgrading has just been installed and it's been chaos all around. I lost a check requisition for $1,200 and almost went nuts trying to find it… I acquired two new clients (yay me!) and I've been trying to seal fair deals with them, but it's hard. One of them is unwilling to sign the contract unless I fly to where he is and personally monitor his company for a two-month preview to see how we work, before he signs… For free. I can't travel to another country for TWO months and work for free! I have a life, too, you know! (sigh) Anyway, sorry for the lateness of my update.

**Warnings:** Well, this chapter has not yet been proofread. I already sent it to GG for beta reading, but I wanted to post it either way to let you know I haven't given up on it. As soon as I get the revised version back, I'll take this one down and upload the new one.

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**Part 6**

We had returned from Long Island at around 4 o'clock, with Trowa threatening he would be picking me up at 7 and that I had better be ready.

It was barely six thirty and I was ready; I looked at myself in the mirror, scrutinizing every single detail of my appearance. The long Prada hunter green gown hugged my curves in all the right places; it had ruffles down the hem of the deep V-shaped cleavage that crisscrossed to my back where it ended in thin straps that left my back bared from neck to backbone. It flowed in long, romantic waves of silk down my legs; an upside-down V-shaped slit with equal ruffles spread wide enough to reveal my right leg from mid thigh down. It was sexy, yet elegant; Hilde had helped me pick the shoes, choosing intricate golden Manolo Blahnik sandals with in-woven gold gemstones. With large gold chandelier earrings and my hair swept in a loose French twist held up with golden baby pins, I was ready to rock the boat.

I had enjoyed myself earlier today after the 'talk' with Amelia; she had turned out to be quite a witty and charming woman, sprouting stories of her and Trowa's rather unusual childhood against his will. He had choked and sputtered his soda several times at some of the stories Amelia told—stories that were obviously not meant to be retold.

I loved the kind of relationship she had with Gerard; they bickered constantly, arguing about the most trivial of things but then deciding on some common ground with a kiss and a smile. They had a very perky, comical marriage, but that's what made it special and long-lasting. They were so in tuned to the other's needs, completing each other's sentences and glaring at each other when they, accidentally, stole words from the other's mouth.

It was midway through lunch when two hurricanes barged out onto the terrace, screaming and complaining as they sold each other out to their parents. It was cute seeing Gerard scolding them and see their subsequent pouting before they spotted Trowa and screamed all over again, hugging the living daylights out of him. He had gushed at how 'grown-up' they were, merely eight years-old each. Twins; the perfect pair—a girl and a boy: Julianne and Logan.

Or Jules and Logs, as they preferred to be called.

We all sat down on the living room's plush floor after lunch, soda and popcorn our allies as boys paired up and girls did as well for a Battle of the Sexes Monopoly death match. We used gummies and M&M's when we ran out of hotel pieces, but had to end the game prematurely when Gerard started eating our properties.

Knocking on my door made my hands sweat. I swiftly grabbed my gold-studded clutch purse, checking its contents too see I had everything I needed; I slowly opened my front door. The sight was something to behold as Trowa stood there looking perfectly at ease with the classic black and white tuxedo, and I knew without even looking at its tag, that it had to be from one highly coveted designer like Armani or Oscar de la Renta.

I felt the heat infuse my chest and face when his eyes turned dark and smoldering as they swept over my figure in lustful appreciation.

He reached for my hand and kissed my palm, the tip of his tongue on my skin, shocking and sensual. In a swift moment he had seized his arm around my waist and pulled me to his chest, his lips almost colliding with mine but I turned my head to the side, placing a chaste kiss on the skin below his ear instead.

He chuckled softly, his breath fanning the side of my neck before he pulled back. "Ready?"

I quickly grabbed my long, black evening coat and he helped me into it before I nodded and we were on our way.

I was abnormally aware of his leg brushing mine as we sat side by side in the limousine, the champagne in my glass swirling as the vehicle turned corners here and there.

"You're awfully quiet tonight; bummed because you lost at Monopoly?"

I snorted softly, taking a sip of my drink. "Hardly. We would have beaten you guys had Gerard not eaten our hotels."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Are you aware of how odd that sounds?"

I laughed as well, seeing the point to his observation. "It's the truth. He ate our houses and our hotels."

"Serves you right for choosing candy as substitute."

"It was either that or pebbles, and I was in no mood to go pick those up in the garden." I shook my head, smiling in remembrance. "Besides, it wasn't me who needed to prove herself; it wasn't my reputation that was tarnished by childhood retelling."

He sniffed childishly. "You'll never forget that, won't you?"

I laughed. "I will die someday, and believe me the memory will not die with me. I'll make sure to pass it down generation to generation."

There was a comfortable silence as we got nearer and nearer to the St. Regis Hotel where the gala was being held.

"I had a great time." I said softly after a moment, drinking the last drops of my glass.

"I'm glad." He kept silent for another moment before he spoke again, his voice now having turned grave. "I saw the paper yesterday."

I had been wondering about that; not that he had any right to question anything. "Yeah, so?"

He turned on the seat to face me. "So… you are seeing Winner." His tone was matter-of-fact, leaving no space for argument.

"I don't think that's any of your business."

His eyes narrowed. "We had an agreement—"

"Exactly; we agreed to—"

"No public displays."

I laughed, not being able to help myself as I reached to rub the skin between my eyebrows. "Trowa, be careful, you almost sound jealous… you wouldn't want me to think that, would you?"

His eyes narrowed even further to angry emerald slits and for a moment there I thought he would force a kiss on me; it was practically his modus operandi when he got upset with me, thinking anything could be solved with a rumple in the hay.

"Please, get over yourself."

My eyebrows rose at the angry tone in his voice, but dismissed it. "I was about to say the same thing to you. Plus, don't think I don't know you're still seeing Krista and frankly, I don't give a shit. I won't get in your way if you don't get in mine. Got it?"

He sighed heavily as he slumped back on his seat, running a hand through his unkempt hair. "Why do we always end up fighting?"

"You started it." I said quickly and immediately regretted it as it sounded childish and confirmed his enquiry.

He laughed nonetheless, shaking his head. "See?"

I couldn't help the tentative humor and laughed as well. "We're hopeless."

"That, we are. Hopeless, but hot."

It was so out of the blue, I burst out laughing hard. "You're so full of yourself… But yes, I'll give you that, you are hot. It's a shame it doesn't come with a better personality."

He feigned hurt, a smile still etched to his lips. "At least you admitted I'm hot… but ouch, woman! Be a little more comprehensive about my poor, troubled heart!"

I raised an eyebrow at that. "Heart? Where?"

He laughed again. "Ah, now you're just mocking me."

"Trowa, I always mock you. It's the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think before going to bed."

He quirked his eyebrows high at that, a devilish glint mixed in with humor. "Hmm, so you do think about me. I know I'm hard to forget, quite irresistible I've gotten from ladies around."

"Don't fool yourself. Those 'kinds' of women say anything and everything to get into someone's bank account."

"Oh, so you're saying they only come to me for my money?"

I snorted, even as the limousine slowed down as we neared our destination. "What else for?"

"Not you, though." He turned to look outside his window, peering at the line of limousines dropping off their passengers.

"No, not me, but I'm not 'after you'… I'm trying to 'run away' from you. A totally different situation."

"You hurt me. I'm impressionable, remember."

I laughed again as the limousine stopped in front of the hotel. "You're just a fool."

"But of course, foolishly in lust with you." He smiled sexily before he stepped outside and reached for my hand.

He headed directly to the Versailles Ballroom even though Trowa insisted on heading to the King Cole bar. I mean, sure, I wasn't in any mood to head to some insipid gala where, might I add, I was to be auctioned off, but just the thought of the my mother and Hilde bitching at me for being overly fashionably late didn't bode well with me.

I was aware of the several reporters-in-disguise wandering around; cameras and notepads in handy reach, knowing this would be the very first social gathering Trowa and I assisted as an official couple and that any reporter from any high and low profile media would be here to try and hit the breaking news.

I was prepared for the several dozens of stares directed at us upon our entrance. Trowa's hand lingered over my mostly-bare backbone—a little too low to be considered proper, but I wasn't in any position to tell him otherwise, not wanting to gather unwanted attention—as he guided me through the several groups, trying to locate our colleagues, while at the same time trying to avoid and dodge various couples who looked more than eager to trap us in their insipid conversation with the sole purpose of interviewing us.

I spotted Hilde on the other side of the dance floor, and winked at her when she saw me.

"I'm headed for the bar, want something to drink?" He asked when he also saw Hilde.

"God, a beer would be heavenly right about now… But champagne's fine."

He laughed as he shook his head. He lowered his head to whisper in my ear, his fingers moving aside a few stray hairs from my neck. I shivered involuntarily when his breath fanned my skin. "There's this little seaside restaurant near the pier… How does lobster and beer sound? We could leave this stupid shindig a little early and head out…"

I smiled, still looking away from him, trying hard to ignore the pleasure of his husky words against my skin. "I'm in."

"Deal," he said before he straightened up and headed to one of the bars.

That man was going to be the death of me. However, I should be amazed at my own self-control.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the memory of his breath on my skin as I headed towards Hilde, trying my damnedest to ignore the wicked, knowing smile on her lips. Her ebony hair contrasted heavenly with the bright red Yigal Azrouel jersey dress; it hugged her body down until it reached the top of her thighs before it flared out in waves upon waves of elegant fabric around her legs and feet. Several strings of sparkling onyx gems adorned her neck and fell over her chest, and the effect of her black silk pumps, black jewelry and black hair against the crimson of her dress was striking; she really was turning heads.

And then I noticed the handsome man with long brown hair tied in a silky braid standing beside her. It would have been comical seeing any man with long hair wearing a tux, but his poise and attractive features made the ensemble look daring and dark, in an enticingly dangerous kind of way.

"Gold achiever?" I asked as soon as I reached her, implying if her dress had met its purpose.

She understood perfectly even if my words were rather cryptic. "One-hundred percent smitten. Yours?"

I smiled. "One-hundred percent perfect."

Hilde smiled as well, nodding. She then turned to her side and linked her arm with the braided-man beside her, her smile turning adoring and her eyes sparkling—and I knew right there that this was the man. I felt contradiction fill me inside; I felt elated at my best friend's obvious happiness, yet at the same time felt sad and almost envious. I stopped the wistful sigh before it left my lips.

"Relena, this is him."

I laughed at the funny quirk of his eyebrows at her words.

"Duo Maxwell," he said as he filled the missing information, extending his hand to shake it with mine.

"Relena Peacecraft, a plea—", but I was interrupted… rather rudely, in my opinion.

"Duo? This is a surprise!" Trowa said as he passed me a flute of sparkling champagne before he shook Duo's hand and half-hugged him.

Duo laughed. "Surprise, indeed! What are you doing here? Wait…" He turned to look at me and then back at Trowa. "Hold on… Hold on!"

Trowa smiled before he snaked an arm around my waist, pulling me flush to his side. "I see you've met my fiancé, Relena."

Duo laughed again as he copied Trowa's move and pulled Hilde to his side, kissing her temple sweetly. "Man, this is too weird. You? Engaged?" He stopped for a moment before he looked at me and quickly corrected himself in an almost desperate jest. "It's nothing personal, but I just never thought… Congratulations!" He said dejectedly after stumbling over his words.

"Thank you." I said, trying to ignore Hilde's suggestive winks and looks.

"Relena?" I turned at the new voice only to find Tristan Barton standing behind us. "May we have a word?"

I nodded before I turned to excuse myself from the group. "If you'll excuse me."

"What does he want?" Trowa asked me softly, looking over my head at his father's waiting figure.

I shrugged but knowing full well what he wanted to talk about. "How should I know? I'll be right back."

I didn't wait for a reply as I turned to leave to join Tristan who extended his arm as soon as I reached him. I took it and we walked away, but I could feel Trowa's green glare resting heavily on us.

"Mrs. Vanderbilt was thrilled with the news," he said when we were out of earshot. "She thought it was an excellent idea."

I laughed, thrilled at this. "Excellent. Payback's a bitch, isn't it?"

He laughed along with me, before he took a sip of his whiskey. "And you just can't wait to collect your bill, right?"

I nodded as I looked around at the attendees. "Got to keep the business ethics intact."

"Business ethics?"

"Of course; it's a dog-eat-dog world. I will not hurt your ears with the rather… crude, yet original slogan."

" 'You fuck me, I'll fuck you twice over'? It's catchy, I'll give you that."

I laughed. "Now, why couldn't your son inherit your charming personality?"

"Give him some time, he'll come around. It takes a while to master perfection."

"Well, he does have 'cockiness' down to a tee."

He laughed as we walked back to Trowa, Hilde and Duo. "Well, that's a start. I'm looking forward to this auction."

I nodded, smiling as I returned to my group. "Same here; can't wait."

He laughed, shaking his head derisively as he walked away.

"I see you and my father get along pretty well. Mind telling what you two are plotting?" Trowa said as soon as I stopped to stand beside him, humor tinting his words; a sexy, curious smile etching his lips.

"Now, wouldn't you just love to know?"

I fought the frown that threatened to narrow my eyes when I spotted Krista McKenzie standing a little way behind Trowa, obviously looking at our interaction. Hmm…

I wounded both my arms around his waist, relishing in the sensation of feeling him draw a shaky breath into his lungs at my sudden move, elated I could cause havoc in his world, if only in small measures.

"Let's dance," I said before he could question my actions.

His eyes darkened to burning jade, narrowing as they looked directly into mine before he nodded and grabbed my hand to lead me to the dance floor.

Waltz.

Waltz? When would people realize waltz is out-dated?

"Ah, this is going to be fun." He uttered silkily before he placed his left hand over my right shoulder blade and sprinted— yes, sprinted—into step.

We joined the few other couples—around eight or nine other couples—in the synchronized go-around circle. Now, waltzing is fun, don't get me wrong, but I just happen to think it's too old-fashioned. Luckily my mother had made it a point I learned how to properly waltz when I was a child. Pagan had also been adamant in my lessons, saying any proper lady knew how to dance the waltz.

I preferred swing dancing, but hey, that's just me.

After a couple more pieces, the orchestra changed the tune to some melodious romantic music, and Trowa presented no qualms in pulling me closer to him, his lips breathing softly as they rested on my temple. I fought the urge to close my eyes at this, my hands climbing up his arms to wound around his neck without any prior thought of the action.

His hands burned my skin as they touched my bare back, and I shivered before I could stop myself.

"Cold?"

"Yes," I said quickly, knowing that if I said I wasn't cold, he would know he was affecting me.

"May I cut in?"

We both turned sharply towards the new voice; Quatre looked handsome and impeccable in his standard black and white tuxedo, his hair was styled neatly even if a few bangs rebelled and partially covered his deep blue-green eyes.

I looked back at Trowa, sensing the hesitation in him before he nodded slowly, never taking his eyes away from Quatre. They stood facing each other for what seemed hours before Trowa moved to walk away but not before he placed a sweet-looking kiss, even though it carried its courier-purpose bare and devoid of any code for Quatre to decipher. I was his—Asshole. I felt like a piece of meat as they glared at each other, but not surprisingly, felt thrill at having two incredibly handsome men 'contesting for my affections'.

I smiled at Quatre when Trowa finally turned to walk away, and I felt a silent breath leave my lungs with my relief. For a moment there I thought I would have to play at being referee to these two. I had the sudden feeling that if I wasn't careful, I could get these two in trouble. Emotionally and professionally-wise.

"The auction is to commence in 20 minutes." He said quietly, smiling as he guided me in slow circles around the dance floor in tune to the strings quartet symphony. "You seem awfully calm about it, too."

I smiled at him, shaking my head as I turned to look at the auctioneer looking through some papers, standing on a small stage located to the left-opposite corner of the entrance. The stage had a small four meter-long runway attached to it. Peachy, just peachy.

"How did you know I was being auctioned off? I didn't find out until yesterday morning."

His smiled widened with that 'I know something you don't' glint in it, and he looked so irresistibly boyish I wanted to crush my lips to his and never let him go. I shook my head imperceptibly, trying not to call extra attention. Stupid thoughts that would get me nowhere, all they did were cause me headaches. I resisted the urge to rub the bridge of my nose.

"I've got my ways."

I narrowed my eyes at him, even if I continued to smile, awfully amused. "You just like teasing innocent women, Mr. Winner. It's an awful habit, let me tell you."

"Awful habits are biting your nails or speaking through a mouthful. Teasing is just—"

He stopped abruptly, one blond eyebrow arching slightly.

"Is, what?"

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! Good evening!" Screeched the over-enthusiastic auctioneer on the microphone. "Welcome to the 24th annual New Yorker Community Fundraiser, One Step Closer to a Better World."

Everyone stopped dancing and turned to the small red and silver stage; the runway suddenly lit up with hundreds of small light bulbs and I was tempted to run as far and away as possible. I tried to ignore the way my hands started sweating as I got suddenly nervous, but Quatre's voice beside me steered my attention back to him.

"I need to go get some slips; if you'll excuse me."

I nodded and he turned to walk away; it wasn't even five seconds later that I felt Trowa's arm snake around my waist.

"—hosted by Bright Lights, Marketing Solutions and BWBP International Consulting—"

"Nervous?" He asked in a low whisper against my ear, his soft lips teasing.

"Far from it." I smiled as I looked at the people around us, trying my hardest to keep my cool. Oh, what I had in store for him. "You?" I retaliated as I turned my head slightly to my left to regard his reaction.

He frowned faintly, his eyes flicking to the runway for a second before he turned his eyes back to me. "Why should I?"

I shrugged, the smile still etched on my lips. I rose on my tiptoes to reach his ear, drawing the lobe softly between my lips and applying small pressure with my teeth. I smiled wider when he shivered slightly; the small, blonde hairs at the back of his neck prickling lightly as Goosebumps rocked through his nerve ends. "Payback."

He smirked at me… The arrogant asshole has the balls to smirk at me? He should be feeling nervous, apprehensive, scared shitless! Daredevil.

"Excuse me, Miss Peacecraft? I'm so sorry to interrupt like this, but if you'd please come with me, the auction is about to start." One of the staff's crew interrupted us in one single, nervous breath, fidgeting as if he was scared he would have his head severed for interrupting our conversation.

I smiled at the man, amused when his face noticeably relaxed. A let him lead me away, not bothering to say another word to Trowa, but I was extremely happy when I heard his exclamation of surprise and briefly turned to look over my shoulder to see another staff member, this one much more aggressive, leading him away.

I spotted Dorothy standing by a potted plant to one side of the small stage, arms crossed and fingers tapping restlessly against her arms. She had a ticked off expression creasing her face, eyes glaring at any staff member that dared come her way.

Now I understood why the kid had looked like he was about to piss his pants; he had probably gone through Dorothy first before he reached me. Poor soul.

I laughed quietly to myself, walking to stand beside her. I heard her sigh softly when I stopped at her side, her blue eyes looking wearily at the men gathered around the runway. I was starting to get nervous, too; my hands sweating cold as I did my best not to rub them on my dress.

"Let's make a run for it, I think that if we're fast enough, no one will notice it until it's too late." Dorothy whispered conspiratorially, looking at the three emergency exits. "I better open a new bank account; I'll need some bail money. If I find out whose idea it was to do this stupid auction…"

I laughed at Dorothy as the auctioneer began reading the names of the participants, the rules and such for the auction, readying the public for the show. Techno music filled the room as the lights dimmed and the crowd started cheering, the men whistling like wolves after their prey.

"…And our first participant is… Anna Sedelmeier! Auction starts at $2,000!"

"That man is way into this."

"I think he needs to get laid… urgently." Dorothy smiled back, before she continued. "I mean, what's so bad about it, anyway? We just have to spend tomorrow with our 'buyer' from 10 to 5—"

"Eight." I corrected. And it wasn't bad, really, and it was for a really good cause; it was just the thought that we hadn't even been asked. We had to spend tomorrow from 10 am to 8 pm with a complete stranger, and I was in no mood to be an entertaining hostess for 10 hours. Thank god I had it all taken care of.

Anna Sedelmeier was sold at $8,500. Not bad, except that she was 'bought' by some creep who probably couldn't walk a straight line without a cane. Next came Stephanie Mayer and Delia Peters who were auctioned off at $7,000 and $9,800 respectively.

I felt my heart pitter-patter crazily in my ribcage when my name boomed through the speakers, and I climbed up the small stairs to the runway, walking to its end where it overlooked dozens of spectators and buyers. I forced a smile to my lips as I gave a small turn to show the back of my dress, stopping to clasp my hands behind my back, trying to keep the public from seeing me fidget nervously.

"Starting at $2,000. Who offers $2,000 for the lovely lady?"

"$2,000!" Offered a man, raising his pallet with a '28' on it. I couldn't see his face clearly, since he was standing behind an old lady with a feathered hat on her head.

"We have $2,000! Who offers $3,000?"

"Three thousand dollars." This time it was Quatre Winner, and I couldn't help but smile at his wink.

"Three thousand dollars! Anyone up for $4,000?"

"Six thousand dollars!" Claimed N°28.

"Six thousand dollars! We have $6,000!"

"Eight thousand dollars!" Quatre's pallet with a 16 on it rose above his head, and I felt dread overcome me as I cast glances around the crowd. We were about to break the record, where the hell was my predetermined buyer!

"Ten thousand dollars!" Number twenty-eight said again. Who was that guy!

The auctioneer looked back and forth as if he was watching a tennis match, smirking widely. "We have ten thousand dollars, ladies and gentlemen! Ten thousand dollars at one; ten thousand dollars at two!"

"Fifteen thousand dollars!" and "Twenty-five thousand dollars!" were offered simultaneously, followed by a silence before the auctioneer boomed excitedly. "Sold! Relena Peacecraft at $25,000 to the lady in the red dress!"

I laughed when Quatre—who was the one who had offered the fifteen grand— looked across the room and spotted Hilde grinning. I imagined he understood this had all been planned from the beginning by the way he was shaking his head while smiling at Hilde, making his way to kiss her hand charmingly.

Soon after that, Kate Borrows was sold at $8,000 to a nice-looking guy who worked at Marketing Solutions; she looked pretty happy with it, so I imagined someone will be getting very lucky tonight. Linda Winslow, the company slut, caused uproar, showing up in a dress that barely covered her essentials, reminiscing a Courtney Love-styled dress. The black thing barely reached her thighs; it was an off-the-shoulder slip of a thing, with a severe cleavage that dipped between her breasts, topped off with silver sandals that were too high to be considered safe. Scandalous would've been the word my mother would have used had she been here to see it.

Not surprisingly, though, she was sold at $15,500 when the five initial bidders were cut down to two and then to one winner.

And last came Dorothy who for all her self-assertiveness and cockiness looked as nervous as a little kid on his first day at school. She looked regal in her imperial-cut black chiffon dress, the lightness of her loose, blond hair a striking contrast to the dark richness of her dress. Bidding started at $2,000 and rapidly climbed to $8,000 as three men shouted sums and raised their pallets high in the air in a synchronized choreography.

Imagine everyone's surprise when Quatre raised his pallet and offered $35,000. Dorothy looked shocked, her eyes gone wide in their surprise. The auctioneer wasted no time and sealed the bidding with a resounding thud of his wooded mallet, a brief, deep silence filling the room before everyone broke in applause.

I had finally made my way to where Hilde was standing, and upon my arrival, I felt a heavy, friendly arm drape around my shoulder.

"I told her to wait." Duo said with a mild pout, half glaring, half winking at Hilde who could only laugh and shake her head.

"Wait for what?"

Hilde cleared he throat, regarding her boyfriend through half-lidded eyes. "He wanted to buy you, but we couldn't have that. Imagine my boyfriend dating my best friend who also happens to be engaged?"

I laughed as Duo's arms tightened around my shoulder and be moved forward a little to encircle his girlfriend with this other arm, capturing us in his tender, teasing embrace. "Well, if I didn't act fast, someone else would've bought you off! Winner had his mind set on buying you, not to mention half the ballroom… but I imagine everyone's too shy when having to compete against someone as filthy rich as Quatre Winner."

I raised my eyebrow at his long speech, barely noticing how the mood in the crowd had suddenly changed and all the audience had suddenly switched to up the female nature. Aah… It was time.

"So, it was you? I was wondering who was the man who had dared go against Hilde. I hope you realize what a fiery, bitchy German she can be from time to time."

Hilde snorted unladylike, crossing her arms over the red bodice covering her stomach as we made our way to the small counter they had set up for the auction. I could only smile at her as sarcasm dripped off her tongue smoothly. "I don't know what I would do without you, Relena. You are such a charmer."

I laughed at the deadly tint in her tone, catching the mocking curve of her eyebrows. "Aw, but you know it's all out of love." I signed my name in the dotted line and took the pallet I was given.

"Yeah, thank god you love me—what's going on?" She asked suddenly, casting curious glances at the runway and at the several female heads that had suddenly overtaken the audience. We stepped closed, but still at a relatively safe distance in case there was some elbowing, vicious stepping heels, scratching or any other thing of the sort. Society women were prompt for cat-fighting.

"And now, it's time for some eye candy for the ladies in the house." There was a roar as all the women screamed and squealed and clapped and whistled as the men dropped back to linger by the bars, keeping a close eye on their partners. "Now, I few minutes ago, I got a new donation from BWBP International Consulting intended specially to treat the ladies in attendance."

There was another round of applause and catcalls as the booming music restarted and the lights dimmed to indicate the show was about to begin.

"Let me present you all to Trowa Barton, of BWBP International Consulting. Bidding starts at $2,000! Come on, ladies! This is your chance!"

I could only laugh as Trowa ascended the three-stepped stairs with a rigidness proper of a funeral, back ramrod straight, eyes looking straight ahead… until they stopped on me and the look turned to a glare.

"Payback," I mouthed, smiling at his obvious discomfort. Whoever said I rolled down and played dead?

As I had prognosticated, the bidding went sky high as women fought to win. It was all in good jest and for an honest reason. I wasn't even listening to what the auctioneer was saying, raising my pallet at random times just to pretend I was fighting for my fiancé.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Hilde asked; her face contorting slightly as she suppressed a tired, bored yawn.

"Busy time last night?" I asked, winking at her yawning. "Seems like someone had lots of action and no sleep."

She laughed while I raised my pallet again, glancing at Trowa briefly. Our eyes collided and the intensity in his emerald stare caused shivers to run down my spine. I promptly turned back to what Hilde was saying.

"..too soon, but for the first time in my life I actually find myself craving to be in that kind of relationship. He's different than the rest, Relena; I swear that I can totally see myself committed to him."

I could only stare at her, barely blinking and mouth agape. "Wait, what? What? Are you for real?"

She had a glazed over look in her eyes, and I took the opportunity to glance at Duo's dark head by the bar talking to some other guys. He had an easy smile and a beautiful laugh; it was bubbly and spontaneous and loud, like he didn't care if people thought it was rude or improper.

I was jerked out of my current stupor as Hilde jerked my arm up into the air by my elbow, flagging the pallet in plain view above everyone's head before I could even jerk it back down.

"Sold! To Miss Peacecraft in $58,000!"

I heard the loud murmuring as everyone turned to look back at me, heard Hilde's bubbling voice as she laughed at my expense, but most importantly, I was glaringly aware of Trowa's amused, arrogant pleased smile as he bowed at me, winking flirtingly for the entire world to see.

I had never felt the urge to choke him to death as much as I did now. Or kiss him. Asshole.

Well, now he owed me fifty-eight grand.

* * *

It was almost an hour after the auction, the party was still going strong; Hilde had left a while ago, a beaming and obviously inebriated Duo behind her. I had never been as happy for my friend as I was now, seeing her obviously in love with this guy whom she had just met a few weeks ago. When it hit, it hit fast and hard, that was for sure.

I hadn't seen or heard of Trowa ever since the auction and I was starting to get angry, especially after endorsing the check I had been cheated into spending. It was for a good cause, it was for a good cause, I kept repeating to myself, trying to see the bright side of things. Well, after this, he better pay for that lobster and beer he promised!

What I hated the most was, unwillingly, the fact that I currently found myself missing his company, seeing as Hilde and Duo had already left, and Tristan and Quatre were nowhere to be found. It sucked not having too many friends, especially when one was at these things.

I gasped loudly, my body going rigid at once when I felt an open-mouthed kiss on my neck, followed by arms being draped around my waist from behind. My pulse doubled and then tripled in record time. "Now, smile and look like you're having the best time in the world; people are looking at us, especially after that surprisingly charitable display of humbleness you pulled."

I forced an extra charm to my smile, surreptitiously looking at the people around us to see that, as expected, they were all casting curious, sort of subtle looks at us. I let my head drop back to his shoulder and turned my head to kiss the edge of his chiseled yaw, enjoying his surprised indrawn of breath and the almost lascivious sparkle that stole its way into his eyes.

"How about that beer and lobster you promised me? I think it's only fair seeing as I just spent $58,000 on you."

"Ooh, blackmail."

"It's not blackmail, I'm just rectifying my current situation. Unless you want to pay me those fifty eight grand back…?"

He laughed, his large hand enveloping mine as we started making our way to the lobby. "Lobster and beer it is, then!"

* * *

"Wow."

I laughed at the shock written all over his face. "Yeah, but don't ever tell her I told you this; she would have me accused, trialed, and hung before the next day."

"Drastic, drastic." Trowa laughed before he took a swig of his beer, straight out of the bottle as I liked.

"She's touchy when it comes to age. But then again, don't all women get that way?"

"And you?"

I smiled, ignoring the depth of his stare. "I'm just 23; I imagine when I reach 62 I'll be the same way. I'm not even allowed to call her mother in public places. It's Erica this, Erica that…"

Trowa laughed, shaking his head. "So, this party is next week? Why haven't I gotten an invitation? Are we gate-crashing?"

"You only wish."

"I have many, many wishes, Relena, and none of which include crashing a society matron's birthday party. They go more along the lines of you in—"

"Why do all our conversations revolve around sex?"

He shrugged, slumping against the backrest of his chair. "It's something you do to me."

It'll always be about sex, and just that. I don't know why I felt a sudden sense of sadness fill me inside. Perhaps finding out about Hilde's thoughts on her new relationship has confused me a bit.

"So, are you available?"

An easygoing, honest smile spread across his face, relaxing his features in a boyish caress. "Of course. It should be fun; interesting things always happen at these shindigs."

"That they do." I felt pleasantly full; the lobster had been utterly delicious and I found myself dreading the night's end. "So, about tomorrow…"

"Right, right! Tomorrow you owe me a date." He laughed, taking another long drink of his beer.

"Yeah… I was thinking maybe we could skip it and just pretend—"

"No, no, no… You owe me a date." He smiled arrogantly, letting his long arms hand freely and weightlessly over the armrests of his chair.

I snorted. "Let's analyze the situation more clearly. I paid for you. If I were to chose not to do anything, then that's allowed. It's my money."

He regarded me with a funny look, a small, sexy smile adorning his lips before he surged forward quite suddenly and unexpectedly, almost closing the gap between us over the very small, round table, his hand behind my neck as he pulled me to meet him halfway. Our breaths mingled softly, his was hot as it fanned against my lips in sensual strokes of heat and power. I was instantly overwhelmed by the sheer masculinity and possession of his grasp on my neck, and stopped myself from wanting to close the gap between our mouths.

I was, however, surprised by the seriousness and deepness of his eyes as they regarded me thoughtfully, his fingers absently teasing the hairs at the back of my head.

"You intrigue me." He whispered huskily, his eyes never wandering from mine.

I was speechless; I had lost all sense of rationality and could only stare at him. It was so out of character, this intensity in his eyes that had nothing sexual in them; it was pure, rational curiosity combined with a possessive passion that was true and unadulterated.

"You are beautiful and… different."

"I…" What was a girl to say? I mean, really? I still had my reservations about this fake relationship; and even with the safety net of this being a false engagement and that everything we did would remain fake and emotionless, I still could not bring myself to submit myself to our desires. What was wrong with me? "I… don't know what to say."

Well, at least I was being truthful.

The most beautiful smile broke over his face, accentuating expression lines along his forehead and around his mouth, lines that denoted warmth and caring and tenderness. "You don't have to say anything. I wasn't expecting a reply; I just wanted you to know my opinion."

We were still inches away from each other, and his smile was slowly turning even more and more beautiful even though he hadn't moved a faction of a millimeter.

Before I could stop myself I closed the gap between our lips.

I could taste the beer fresh on his tongue, it added to the already intoxicating taste of him. It was ambrosia, like a vice you never wanted to get rid of. His lips were a combination of sin and heaven; knowing it wasn't right to allow myself to appear this weak in front of him, yet at the same time, not being able to contain myself. I have no resolve when it comes to him; he knows it, I'm sure.

His tongue was subtle and almost shy as it caressed my lips in askance, and I took a breath in surprise, a gap in space he took to his ultimate advantage.

I wasn't aware of time or sound; relativity was nonexistent as the minutes left me confounded—I couldn't even make out if they crawled slowly like a moment frozen in time, or if they sped away to the rhythm of my beating heart.

His hands were hot and cold against my cheeks, or maybe it was my skin which was cold, or vice versa; it seemed like reason and logic had been drowned and smothered by our lips; our heavy, gasping breaths hushing the voices in my head, hiding them from any rational, straight thought process.

"You're amazing…" He uttered huskily, his voice swift and deadly like a devil's blade as it encased me in its powerful haze.

His lips trailed a path of fire from the corner of my lips, across my cheek to lay a tender kiss on my left temple, just over my hairline. And all I could do was close my eyes and savor the moment.

"Tomorrow… I'll take you out on a date." He smiled softly, barely a whisper, though his eyes shone with all the brilliance of a promise in them.

"But I paid for you."

He laughed softly, shaking his head while he continued to tuck loose stands of hair behind my ears. "Do you have any idea how odd and… perverse that sounds?"

I smiled. "Don't tell me you're complaining."

He snorted lightly, one eyebrow high on his forehead. "Are you kidding me? I love the idea of being bought. It sounds really nice."

I laughed, the intensity of our kiss slowly evaporating into a more laid back atmosphere. "Somehow, I don't think 'nice' is the description you would normally go for."

He winked at me, pulling slightly back, and I was relieved by the sudden, although unwanted, space.

"You know me too well. I should sue you. It's not good for business."

"You're still in business or are you planning on going back to business after all this is over?"

Unconsciously, I held my breath, waiting for his reply, knowing that either possible answer would be a shock. Not even when I'm on my period am I this contradictory and confusing.

"Neither."

Hell, I think I'm in deep shit.

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

**To my reviewers:**

**Anrui Shino: **Well, hello, hello there! Thanks An for the review! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter; I was hesitant about including Amelia, especially after knowing I had no intention of including Catherine (I never really liked her). And yes, I definitely love this Relena way better than the usual stereotype "I'm a virgin", "I'm silly and can't speak my mind", "I'm perfect and everybody loves me", etc. I liked this Relena and will like her forever. Kick ass girl! And Trowa… Jesus, what a man. Men aren't really made like that. What a shame.

**Relena Maxwell:** You're a sweetheart! I'm sorry I've taken so long with this update, but here it is! I hope you liked this chapter as well! You made me really happy. Thanks!

**Allura01: **Holy mama! AND Papa! I shall huggle you eternally. Really. Just… wow. Thank you so very much but that absolutely amazing review. You made me blush and squee and I felt so utterly happy when I read it, you have no idea. I'll make it a point to read your stories, I promise. So don't put yourself down like that. As for your comments on the story, I'm so glad you, too, like Relena's personality. Some fans are not really fond of OoC's, and I tend to write OoC. And yes, Trowa is definitely the sexy beast in this fic. (Laughs!) It was a pain trying to keep Heero out of this fic, but I think I've managed quite nicely… He's also a very sexy beast. Damn GW for showcasing these devils! Anyway, thanks again for that incredible review; I hope you found this chapter to your liking, Allura! (glomps!)

**Shane:** Wittiness! That's what I'm aiming for with my dialogues! I suck at dialoguing; it always ends up soaked in witty sarcasm. But, oh well, it seems to work. I hope your thirst for some Relena x Trowa action has been satiated somewhat after this chapter; I didn't mean to end it there, but… it was completely unintentional, I swear. And this isn't the last time you will hear of Trowa. As for the lemon, I mentioned in my author's notes on the first chapter that this story will eventually include a lemon, but I won't post it here. Of course I'll post the link on my site and an edited version for this site. Thanks again, Shane, for reading and reviewing my fic!

**Lixangel:** Yeah! Fisher People! Did you have any doubt? Even after this chapter? (laughs) And yes, Relena's mother, as well as Trowa's and most society women are almost always Social Climbers; it's all about keeping or improving the family name and bloodline. It's cruel, but it's also reality. And Quatre… Well, I have plans for that guy, don't you worry. I've already started shooing him towards Dorothy, as you saw in this chapter, but it isn't the end of his crush on Relena. Things will get feisty and dangerous. (wink) I hope you stay buckled up! You never know what twists I might come up with next. (plot-plot!)

**Sehri:** I was like: Disappointed? Aww! (sniff!)… but then I realized you were just teasing me about my comment on last chapter's note. Relief, relief! Relena ending up with whom? You're still having doubts about that? (tsk tsk!) You should know better! Thanks for reviewing, sweetie!

**Megan:** I'm glad you liked the titles! It gives me such a hard time trying to come up with witty, intelligent and catchy chapter-titles! I'm so happy you're also liking Relena's attitude and character and that you're not upset and flaming me because she's out-of-character. As for whom will Relena end up with… (hint, hint!) Thanks for reviewing! Hope you liked this chapter as well!

**FireDevaKitsuneKarma:** I loved SO hard when I read your review! I was at work and I just burst out laughing! Thank you for that! You are the most amusing reviewer I've ever had the pleasure of 'knowing'! You're the first one to mention my portrayal on men; thank you! I find men so hard to write. I don't know why, they just do. About the pairing, are you still having doubts about it even after this chapter? (laughs) And thanks for the offer on NY locations! I'll be sure to keep that in mind. I'm very picky about those things: location, places, streets, stores, etc. I don't know why; I could just omit it seeing as I don't know much about it, but I think it's an important part of a story to include descriptions of the places and surroundings. (smirk) Thanks, FireDevaKitsuneKarma!

**NightHawk921:** Do you know how happy and stupidly giggly your review made me feel? It's one thing to get reviews from people who normally read Relena-centric fics, but to get a review like the one you left, a review from someone who normally stays far away from them..? That's wow. Thank you, NightHawk921, you made me very, very happy

Also many, many thank you's to **Purdy-Puppy**, **Mila**, and **CFQGY**. I love you all, my beautiful, amazing reviewers!


	7. The Puppet Master

**Her Wicked Ways**  
By Andrea Sinisterra  
Rated R  
Romance/Drama  
_Standard Disclaimers Apply_

**Author's Notes:** Well, first off, please let me apologize for the tardiness of this update. It has been many, many months, I'm well aware, and I will not bore you with trivial, unimportant excuses.

On the other hand, I come with quite a lengthy chapter, packed with lots of twists and revelations and maybe a few answers. I hope you find this accommodating for time being while I start on the next chapter, and sincerely hope you're still keeping up with my fic. I know it gets tedious when you have to wait between updates, but please! I'm still writing! I swear! wail!

**Warnings:** Well, in case you hadn't noticed, I upped the rating. There's quite a lot of swearing and maybe a scene or two I wrote or am planning to write that wouldn't fit into the whole PG-13 scheme.

Also, this hasn't been beta-read yet, since I wanted to post this as soon as I finished writing the last word. I'll repost the chappie once I get the proofread version from my lovely GG. If she's still willing to beta, that is. cringe

Anywho... On with the story!

**EDIT APR-22-06:** Proofread version up! I was flabbergasted by all the mistakes GG found in this chapter! I'm so sorry! It's just that I was typing too fast and I wanted to post it as soon as possible that I didn't even reread the whole chapter to try and fix a few of those. I apologize!

- - - - -

**Part 7 **

Has it ever happened to you that whenever you think of something really embarrassing, you automatically want to block out the image, feeling that the mere remembrance obligates you to relive the moment? But there are some times when it isn't really anything embarrassing, just moments you wished you could take back.

It was all I could think of as I laid on my bed while the sun burned my back, too exhausted to even move an inch to either roll over or drape the sheets over my back. It was a combination of mental and physical exhaustion, I felt hung-over and beat up, as if my body was a single bruise, throbbing and bitter. And in a sense, it was, beaten up by all the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days—the lust in his emerald gaze, combined with the mighty prowess of his Adonis-like body, the grip of his hands on my skin, the slip of his tongue against my neck, the clashing of his teeth against mine, and the forbidden fantasies he conjured up, almost involuntarily it seemed, were ever-present in my mind.

And although it wasn't a really weird night yesterday, it threw me off seeing the more than obvious changes in Trowa's demeanor as of late. It was as if he didn't want to believe or accept this engagement was just a fake—either that or he was a really good actor. I don't know if I should feel flattered or on edge with all this. Frankly, I haven't been sure of almost anything since New Year's.

I forced myself out of bed, sitting on its edge, relishing the sharpness of the cold floor against my bare feet, letting the shock jolt me further into wakefulness. The sudden shrill of the alarm clock startled me, and I could only glare at the consecutive hands marking 8:30 a.m.… on a Sunday morning.

Hilde had called me late last night, eager to know how my 'date' had gone, only to squeal loudly when Trowa chose that moment to burst out laughing, even though we had been in the throes of a very mind numbing, earth shattering kiss right there on my apartment's doorstep. I guess, from sheer logic, he overheard Hilde's more than effusive voice, not to leave aside the fact that we were standing in the middle of a very empty, echo-pronounced hallway. Her interrogation, a speech composed of a thousand words per second was a dead giveaway— something, I suppose, he found very amusing.

We agreed on spending the evening together, supposedly because we needed as much publicity as we could get. I had a small suspicion my mother would do something to compromise us even further when we met again on the weekend. I was quite surprised though, at my father's continued silence about this whole ordeal. I wondered if he knew what was going on and if he was just playing along to please my mother's childish wishes—or if he really had no idea and was just as clueless as I was two weeks ago.

After preparing myself a very big and very hot mug of instant coffee, black and without sugar, I headed to my bathroom to start my Sunday so early in the morning. I don't know if it was because I really was feeling tired or because I was feeling languorous and reminiscent of last night's events, but for some reason it took me almost two hours to shower, wash and blow dry my hair, choose an outfit and get dressed. Hilde claimed my morning during last night's speed-light phone call, saying that she wanted to go shopping. She needed to buy baby clothes and other stuff for her cousin who gave birth to a beautiful baby boy not even three days ago.

We met at the Plaza for a quick breakfast and I found quite interesting the fact that Hilde never mentioned Trowa; it's been practically the opening speech-slash-interrogation to the past two thousand conversations we've had. By midday we were swamped in packages, most of them from this trendy new maternity boutique that opened a couple of days ago. We ventured into Harry Winston, thought I didn't really know if it was because we were curious or because we only wanted to torture ourselves, but we spent almost an hour perusing display cases of engagement rings and wedding bands. Being inside that store made the ever-present weight of my own engagement ring even more prominent, and I couldn't help but notice how it sparkled so brightly —Trowa really had outdone himself.

It was amazing how he had managed to get under my skin in such a short time. He used to do it before, he had always been able to, but not in such levels. It was amazing the common ground we had been able to create: who would've expected we had so many things in common? And he was able to surprise me with the most out of character actions like meeting his sister and the time we spent at her house, or when he caught me completely off guard by presenting me with the ring… He was completely confusing me: he could be such a sweetheart, caring and tender, amusing and intelligent, yet there were other times when he was such a bastard, demeaning and condescending, arrogant and irritating.

But last night… it was all I could think of as I tried to get some shut eye after he'd dropped me off. What was going on with him? Why the sudden change? Sometimes I thought something had changed or was changing between us, like our rather strange relationship was evolving and transitioning into the next facet, yet I didn't know if either one of us was ready for that… or if it was even what we wanted… at all.

"You're thinking of him, you just groaned out loud."

I let out a low wail, dropping my head onto my linked arms. It sounded childish and imprudent, and I didn't care a pig's ass if it bothered the other diners or not.

"Babe, look at me; first of all, stop doing that, you're acting like a child." She admonished, shaking her head.

I needed a cigarette or some kind of alcohol to take the edge off; I felt jumpy, nervous, anxious and strangely, pleased.

"Hilde, last night… I—you should've been there… I think I screwed up."

"Jesus, don't tell me—"

It took me a moment to read her expression: wide eyes, brows up, mouth agape, her hand gripping mine fiercely… "Give me some more credit, would you?"

Hilde leaned back in her chair, apparently releasing the air she had gasped in seeing as her entire body seemed to relax and melt with her relief. "Well, what am I supposed to think when you can't form a single coherent sentence and then manage it and tell me you 'screwed up'? I would've blamed you from beyond had you given me a stroke."

I've always wondered about her ability to talk so fast and make sense at the same time. Have you ever taken notice how people around you are totally eavesdropping on your conversation and how everything seems more and more quiet—like there's a sudden gap in the air, filled with nothing but silence, and it's only your voice ringing out like a howl in the night?

I promptly signaled her to shut it. She was too loud sometimes.

"Hilde, the last thing I need is everyone thinking I'm pregnant or something like that."

"Okay, what's going on? You seem on edge lately, and I don't like it. You're a totally different person, Relena—what's going on with you?" (

"I don't know… Hilde, I swear it's been only a couple of weeks—"

"Relena, I'm surprised you've lasted this long. Trowa… he's a very attractive man, and from what I've heard, very persuasive. I'm really surprised—"

"—that we haven't fucked yet?" I did my best to ignore the look of surprise of a passing-by waitress, knowing she must've heard my outburst since I was kind of loud, but frankly, I didn't give a shit.

"Sweetie, I'm on your side, remember? I was going to say that I'm really surprised he hasn't tried to coerce you into his bed; that man is dangerous, his reputation isn't for nothing." She paused, then, looking thoughtful as she stared at me for a moment.

There she goes… cocking her head. Hilde has this tendency to cock her head to the left whenever she's braining something, usually she does it right before something really clever and insightful comes out of her mouth.

"Tell me." I practically laughed, knowing she was dying to say what she was obviously braining.

"Relena, for how long have we known each other?"

"Three years. Don't beat the bush."

She nodded; a soft, very serene look on her face. "When have I lied to you?"

"Well, there was that time when you tricked me into going to that awful party that almost got us raped—there's also that time with your parents, and the time we got arrested—"

"The thing is," she began loudly, shutting me up. She was really fun to tease. "I know you well. I know you so well to know that there's something about Trowa that has you intrigued. You don't love him, you barely even like him. Am I right?"

I nodded. Bitch. I wished I was half as good at reading people's minds as she was.

"You're glaring. Stop cursing me." She laughed. "Anyway, as I was saying… I think Trowa's been unconsciously exhorting you to try new things. He's giving you the chance to let yourself go with absolutely no risk of strings or any sort of commitments."

I frowned. "So, you're saying I unconsciously want to fuck him?" Hold on… "Well, that's never been the issue; you know I've always been attracted to him… What's the difference now?"

"The difference now is that he's being more receptive. He wants you; Jesus, you should've been able to see the two of you all over each other yesterday. And I'm dying to know what happened after the two of you left."

"Give and take, Hill; I'd like to know how you got that hickey first."

She smiled knowingly at me and didn't even move to cover the obvious bruise. Shrugging, she said, "Duo has a lot of stamina. I think it has something to do with the champagne; only one of two things can happen with his marathon-ic performance: either he kills me or his dick falls off."

I don't know what was funnier, her comment or the looks of surprise of the diners around us.

- - - - -

"You have got to be kidding me."

He raised that obnoxious eyebrow once again; it was absurd how the smallest of his quirks irked me. He was too arrogant, too self-confident, too fucking attractive for normal words to ever make him justice.

We stood there on the wood floor of the docks, staring at the yacht before us. I didn't know I was claustrophobic until now. Spend an entire day with Trowa, alone, with no source of escape? Yes, people, I think I'm getting nervous.

I started to back away, but his hand on the small of my back, though it was a little too low it almost graced my butt, stopped me. He wound the same arm around my waist, folding me to his side, bringing his lips against my ear, his nose shifting my hair.

"You owe me a date."

I turned to glare at him, though it took a lot of self-control seeing as we were mere inches from the other. "Don't twist the situation. It wasn't in your favor. I. Bought. You."

He gave that goddamn beautiful smile again, all dimples and sparkly eyes. Fuck! I sound like a deranged romance novelist!

I walked to the boat before he could say something; I was sure it had to be something terribly sexy from his smile and the way he was leaning into me.

We set sail not much later; it really was a beautiful day. It was like something out of a tourist catalogue; white seagulls, deep blue ocean, one fucking huge yacht and one sexy, Ralph Lauren-look-alike model. What more could a girl possibly ask for?

We had a really great day, even if I do say so myself. He acted like a complete gentleman, civil and respectful, the perfect guide even if I knew New York's coasts like the back of my hand. I caught myself more than once staring entranced at his profile, loving the way the air wove through his hair, shifting every independent strand and making it sparkle with light.

So much had happened on such a short time; how long has it been? A month? I could still hear Hilde's words running through my head, and still I felt nervous whenever I thought too deeply on it. What happened after we left the party? Just thinking about how well we had connected… and that kiss. We had kissed again, much deeper and more desperate on my doorstep, and it had taken all my willpower not to allow him entry.

But hell, he had been so insistent, so passionately coercive, trying to convince me with kisses and licks, whispering sweet nothings against my skin. I even went as far as to consider letting him take me against the hallway wall, right there in the middle of the public passageway, right in front of the elevator. I could just picture Mrs. Stile's shock-ridden face, spluttering nonsense about profanity and fornication in the eyes of God. The prudish old hag. The things he did to me. Needless to say I had pushed him off me as if I had been burned… and in a way, I had. I swear if it hadn't been for Hilde's phone call right then, I would've made the worst mistake possible.

I shivered with just the thought of it, goosebumps rising on my skin just wondering what it must feel—NO!

Fuck!

"Are you feeling okay? You look like you're about to throw up." He grabbed my arm then, and led me a few steps back to sit on a leather-upholstered bench. His proximity was doing surprising things to my body, and for a moment there, when my hands started to feel too clammy and sweaty, I thought I would drop the glass of wine to the floor.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

"I'm feeling wonderful." The sarcasm in my voice didn't go unnoticed by him, apparently, seeing his brows furrow and his lips thin to a grim line.

He hadn't even tried to kiss me today, hadn't even brought up what happened—or almost happened last night. Was I the only one affected by it? I would be damned if I let him know how it had affected me. Damn asshole with the titanium façade.

"Hm." He turned around then, his back to me, his body bent over with his elbows resting on the railing supporting his weight.

God, but he was magnificent. Even in the simple black slacks and white button-down soft cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, he looked stunning.

Asshole.

"Why did you accept to come in the first place? You certainly wish you were anywhere else but here."

There was something in his voice, hurt masquerading as curiosity maybe, I was not sure, but there was a tilt of disappointment carrying on his words. "Don't act like you know me."

He snorted, casting a look at me over his shoulders before turning back to look at the sea in front of us. "There's no need; it's pretty obvious you abhor being in my presence." He laughed then, short and abrupt, surprising me with its suddenness, turning around to face me, the lower part of his body still resting against the railing. "How can you turn so cold overnight? Just last night…"

"I attribute that to too many glasses of champagne and beer. Nothing more. Trowa, nothing's going to happen between us; this is just a fake engagement—everything we do or say is just a fluke."

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself of that. Drunk or not, Relena, you liked it. Don't waste your breath trying to deny it; if it hadn't been for your cell phone, you know what would've happened right there. You enjoyed it, more over, you encouraged it." He pushed off the metal barrier, moving towards me in slow, calculated steps, and in a moment of desperate insanity, I thought of a panther, sleek and powerful, stalking its prey, intent on murder. "You damn well know what will happen if I touch—"

"Get your hands off me." The nerve… "Look here, Trowa. I don't know how else to say this, or how many times will it take for it to get through your thick skull: I don't like you."

"Why?" His tone rose, practically yelling the word. "Why the fuck don't you like me? You can screw half the guys living on this damned island, yet you can't even like me?"

"Oh, please! Like you like me. You just want me to be your fuck buddy! You think you can screw me now and then, whenever you feel like it, and then act like nothing's changed? Newsflash, Casanova, it doesn't work that way. I'm not one of your speed dial whores, always at your beck and call."

He looked stricken for a moment, surprised. I was sure a woman had never talked like this to him before. I was pretty certain I was the first one who hadn't melted at his feet, begging him to take me. Prick.

"I don't think of you like that."

Those, certainly, were not the words I was expecting. Who did he think he was talking to? Who was he trying to fool? I laughed, long and loud, so hard my sides started to hurt. I couldn't stop myself, everything was so out of the loop, so strange and unexpected. When had everything changed so that I lost control of my own life? When did he start to affect me in such a way I found it hard to keep myself from wanting to jump him? I laughed, laughed until tears stung my eyes.

"You expect me… to believe that?" I asked between breaths, suddenly feeling spent, wanting to crawl into my bed and never come out. "Trowa, give me some credit. I don't want anything from you; I don't want you to want me or like me or love me. I don't need any distractions in my life. And you—you are the biggest distraction. Why now? Why now all of a sudden? We've known each other for years, and now you've suddenly developed feelings for me? Don't let this stupid 'engagement' get to your head; you mean nothing to me. You're just someone I work with. You're my coworker; your status in my life will never differ from that."

I didn't even give him a chance to say anything because I walked away, trying my damnedest to just ignore him and pretend. Just pretend nothing had changed.

Last night had been amazing. It was all I could think of as I walked to the back of the boat and took a seat, letting the sun wash over, willing it to erase the look on his face after taking the impact of my words. I wanted to dispel everything he'd said, trying to forget everything, but I knew, deep down that he really liked me. He really did; I wasn't blind or stupid. I'd seen the changes in him, the looks he gave me now and then, the angry tone of his voice whenever I turned him down… But I know it's more like a side-effect of his lust for me than the actual attraction. He wanted me and hated it when I gave other men a chance to be near me; he was jealous that they got to touch me and he didn't. It had always been a matter of pride.

He liked me.

When did things get so complicated?

- - - - -

I've always prided myself on being an intelligent, level-headed woman. I've always been direct, straight to the point, not indulging myself in silly hobbies that make me waste time I could employ on more important, essential things like work. I've always kept myself away from things that distract me from my job, foolish things like love and insipid social gatherings, only assisting when my presence is in high demand.

"Give me another one." The man in front of me looked apologetic; I knew he would tell me slow it down… again. "You're making money; why tell me to stop when you're making profit?"

He sighed, shaking his head before refilling my empty glass with more burgundy liquid. I would have thought I was more intelligent than this; drinking my sorrows and misfortunes away. I couldn't believe I was letting a prick like Trowa Barton get to me like this. I could just imagine his face if he were to see me right then; he'd probably laugh his stupid head off thinking he had the upper hand. And well, to be brutally honest, he did almost have me.

I could still remember the pressure of his body against mine that day at my office, and of course, more recently, the taste of beer and honey from his lips of last night. Fuck.

He was so freaking confusing! He acted like he had a permanent hard-on around me, always trying to kiss me or touch me in some way, yet at the same time, he acted like an utter gentleman, caring and attentive, like he were my fucking boyfriend. And the things he said now and then, those deep, meaningful stares he threw at me, his lingering hand on my back, or his hand on my knee… The possessiveness he showed when he was with me even when we were alone…

"Fuck."

Another shot. How many has it been so far? I couldn't remember the last time I drank this much. And who was counting, anyway? It wasn't like I had someone waiting for me back home. How sad. Not even a pet. How depressing was my life, when one came down to it. A workaholic with no serious relationship to speak of, one real friend, a bitch for a mother, an indifferent father, no siblings, no close family members like a cousin or aunt, and no pet.

I automatically thanked the bartender as he refilled my glass, downing it in one swipe, the once bitter fluid now like water down my hot throat. I didn't think twice when I saw my hands tremble lightly as they held the glass, nor did I think it was funny when the bartender's face started to waver comically in front of me. Talk about being drunk. Here I was, twenty-three, single, and drunk, with no drinking buddy to speak of.

"Need some company?"

I shrugged noncommittally, not really paying attention to the person who had suddenly taken a seat beside me. I waved my hand dismissively, nodding at the bartender to refill my glass. Bourbon. Jolly. "It's a free country."

I don't remember much of what happened after that point.

- - - - -

I can't remember when was the last time I woke up naked, with absolutely no recollection of the previous night, packed up with a pounding migraine and aching limbs. I heard the jingling sounds of a belt and the pit-pat of bare feet against the floor, and knew my bedmate was still lingering around, probably wanting to make a dash before I 'woke up'.

I sighed, closing my eyes, trying to shut the sounds out, relieved when I heard my bedroom door open and then close.

My stomach groaned, just then, the bile in my throat watering my eyes before I made a mad dash across the room to empty my stomach in the toilet. I felt disgusted, humiliated at myself. I wanted, for some reason, to blame Trowa for everything, wanted to blame him for every misfortunate turn my life was taking ever since that stupid day we got swamped into this equally stupid engagement.

I flushed the toilet, ignoring the swooshing water as I headed to the shower, enjoying the cold blast prickle against my skin.

It was his fault, I conceded, it was his fucking fault.

I dressed, for the first time considering actually skipping work and going back to sleep. My stomach wasn't helping much, nor was the hour. It didn't rush me, still. I half expected to see Trowa sitting at my kitchen like he usually was, waiting for me to be ready and head to work together—alas, he wasn't. I tried to ignore my disappointment as I left my apartment and headed to work, deciding to walk, instead of taking the usual cab, not really trusting my unsteady stomach.

It did surprise me, though, when at a quarter to four that day, I still hadn't seen or even heard from Trowa. I'd usually have to barricade my door and screen my phone calls during my day because he's always making a pest of himself, calling for no apparent reason, or turning up at my office and plopping down on my couch to 'watch me work'.

It went this way the entire week, and by Friday, I was actually starting to think he'd either dropped dead or was, more likely, avoiding me. Why would the prick want to avoid me? It wasn't as if our last spar had been different than all the other fights and discussions we'd had over the years. Was he truly hurt, or was he waiting for me to come around and kiss his ass?

As if. Screw him.

By Saturday evening, as I was getting ready to head to my mother's birthday party, I was still expecting him to call. I found myself missing his obnoxious company; I did always enjoy our conversations, and the times we spent together when we weren't fighting or making out. I was really missing his company.

How many times in the last week had I found myself groaning when my thoughts turned this sad, actually wanting him to call me? It was amazing how attached I'(d) grown to him in such few weeks, with him always picking me up to go to work, having breakfast together, exchanging amusing phone calls during the day, an occasional dinner out… It all sounded as if we were a serious, authentic couple.

Dear…

The sudden, unwanted shrill of my cell-phone coming from somewhere on my bed, probably hidden by all the clothes and stuff I had dug from my closet moments before.

"What?" I practically barked into my cell-phone, angry at myself for these thoughts, and angry at the caller for interrupting me.

"Is that the way a proper lady shoulder answer her phone? What if it had been someone else? What if it had been Trowa? Or your father? Or a coworker?"

"Or the fucking President of the United States? Well, I don't know, Mother, I wasn't thinking."

There was a short silence, followed by her clearing her throat. "You should mind your manners, Relena; I don't know how people put up with you."

I sighed; I felt tired suddenly. "Mother, is there a particular reason to your call? I'm almost done getting ready; I'll be there in thirty minutes."

"Oh, yes, I was wondering if you were coming at all. Since you didn't RSVP, I didn't know if you had other plans—"

Un-fucking-believable. "I didn't know I had to RSVP for my mother's birthday party."

There was a sudden rush of air through the earpiece. "Well, you know how these things are, sweetie; you wouldn't want to be left without a seat."

"Don't worry", I hadn't meant to sound so curt, but I swear my mother brought out the worst in me. "I'm going. Include me in the guest's list, wouldn't want someone to deny me entrance to my own house, now would I?"

"Relena, don't be so sarcastic!"

"Mother, really, whatever do you mean?"

The dial tone was all that was left once my mother slammed the phone down on me.

I was such a bitch.

- - - - -

I half expected, half feared running into him, not sure if he would come or not. I'd mentioned the party to him that night at the seafood restaurant and he'd agreed to come, but after our little fight the next day, I wasn't so sure he would even consider coming at all.

By ten o'clock, dinner done and drinks flowing freely around, the fifth glass of whisky in hand, I was certain he wouldn't come. I swept from group to group, not really in the mood to socialize, even though there were over two-hundred people in attendance. I was bored, tired and moody, and just wanted to crawl into my hole and never come out again, when a hand around my waist stopped me.

"Relena, dear," my mother cooed, obviously a little tipsy from the champagne overflowing the party. "Look who I found wandering around all by his lonely self!" I half expected her to hiccup somewhere along the lines, but alas, she did not.

Trowa's striking height behind my mother was hard to ignore, standing well over a foot over my mother's shiny, blond head. His eyes were cold and austere, and his smile was ruthless, but to those around, he looked handsome and charming, like the prodigious son any mother could ever hope for.

I stood there, not sure how to act or react, his presence rendering me still.

What are you doing here? I wanted to ask, but my mother, her smile so wide it was almost fake, prevented me from practically chewing out my 'fiancé' into tiny pieces. I could only smile sweetly. "How nice of you to join us. Trowa."

My mother chucked her tongue at us like a fat mother hen, shaking her head before she grabbed my elbow and pushed me into Trowa's arms. His kiss on my forehead was automatic, bitter as his lips pressed stoically against my skin. "I'm sorry I was late, I couldn't get off soon enough."

I frowned. The cold and wicked glint in his eyes, added to the taunting grin and weird words caught me off guard, and his double-entendre was met straight on. What the fuck? Maybe I was just too paranoid. Happens when you have too many reasons to feel guilty.

"Oh, honey!" My mother gushed, clinging to his arm and looking lovingly at his handsome face. "I'm just glad you could make it. It was about time someone did something for her, she's been moping around all night. She just missed you."

I forced a smile to my lips. She really was drunk; I was two seconds away from snapping at her, but Trowa's strong arm around my shoulders distracted me. I was pulled under his arm, tucked like a child, but somehow, even at this proximity to his warm body, his hold was nonchalant and cold. Dismissive. There was something totally wrong with his demeanor; he wouldn't look me in the eyes, wouldn't smile at me, he hadn't even talked to me—at least not directly.

What the hell was up his ass? Was he seriously pissed off by the way we said goodbye last week? I should be the one upset by his behavior, seeing as he's the one who acted childish by completely ignoring me for one week. One fucking week.

Waiting patiently for my mother to take the hint and hightail it back to her group of friends only made me fidget under Trowa's arm, all nerves and anxiety, two emotions I rarely came across. I was intensely aware of the weight of his arm around my shoulders, the pressure of his hip on my side, the brush of his thigh against mine; it seemed as if my senses were extra sensitive, perhaps it was due to our time apart, or maybe to my part-time paranoia… I was not sure.

My mother had just turned around, her hair up in her stylish braided bun, when Trowa had already dropped his arm from my shoulders, bringing his glass of dark whiskey for a long, bitter drink. He did not look at me, his eyes were a dark emerald, hard and cold, as if he was absent of any emotion, the warmth of his presence completely gone.

"What the fuck is your problem?" I hissed out, smiling still, our 'engagement' a never ending show.

"Nothing," he replied smoothly. His look froze me, that familiar, mocking grin baffling me. "Just playing my part in this fiasco; isn't that what you wanted?"

It went further downhill from there. All night he acted as his usual charming self, all smiles and gentlemanly favors, his savvy personality smooth and polished to a shine. Every single reporter in attendance, every single partygoer and doe-eyed, teenaged girl enamored by his charm and wit, in absolute wonder by our stellar, match-made-in-heaven union. Yet, and this is one big, cold-dwelling yet, he was everything but cold in his demeanor towards me. He was callous and biting, his remarks sarcastic and he tried to shoot me down whenever he found the chance.

I don't know why I let him. Perhaps I was way too shocked by his cold attitude, for not even once did he try to make a pass on me, not a flirtatious wink or a tempting comment made it past his cold façade. He really was upset, by what, I was not certain. The fact that he was angry by our fight the other day was too ridiculous a notion; who would believe a man like Trowa Barton, too suave to let even a hair be out of place, would get tossed out by a mere dispute? Something was off, terribly off, and in my conscience, I was afraid and guilty of what the real reason might be.

More frightening was the fact that I actually cared about all this. Perhaps the realization I came to a week ago had thrown me into a jumbled mess of emotional disturbance, not really trained on these fields—but just knowing he actually liked me, at least by the feeling I got from our discussion the other day, was setting me off balance. I, deep down, wanted things to go back to the way they were, that casual familiarity, the tenacious, yet comical back-and-forth we used to carry on for hours, doing our best to jest and out-wit the other out—everything was different. And I knew it was because of me.

However, in the midst of exchanging casual words with two other couples, I was summoned by Pagan at my father's request. The whole scenario of him waiting for me at his study was not sitting well among my hunches. Something was not right, his sudden interest in me making all the alarms and red lights in my brain go into chaos.

Just as I expected, perhaps from long years of proverbial knowledge, of common routine, he was sitting behind his burgundy desk, the imposing furniture at once demanding and foreboding. He smoked his Cuban cigar with ease, his large body draped over the dark leather chair with a casualness that had my nerves going on overdrive.

"Close the door and take a seat."

It was like the sound of the lions' gate creaking open, doom falling on the gladiator's fighting field. It was ominous at best, this feeling of impending doom once his voice rang out, cold, hard and authoritative. He was the classical patriarch figure, demanding and commanding, ruthless and cold, goal driven, always in his primetime. It didn't matter the years that sat comfortably on his broad shoulders, because my father, despite his age still held all the power and authority in his crisp manners.

I did as I was told, the motion bringing me back to my years of living in this house, trembling just thinking what I did wrong to be summoned to his study, knowing whatever misadventure would undoubtedly be punished in one way or another. He was a man who didn't bother himself with little things as family traditions or menial routines as being the father figure, yet when things clashed with his plans or his own routine, we had a problem.

"Tell me, honey," he started right off the bat, nonsense cast aside. "How are things going with this fella of yours?"

Not what I was expecting, that's for sure. "Please, dad, you know how things are."

He let out a puff of dark smoke, his bushy eyebrow crooking at once. "I wouldn't ask you if I already knew the answer, now would I?"

"No, sir. Things are… okay. I just don't understand why I have to go through this, it's nonsense! Everyone know I'm not going to marry Trowa, this is just another one of my mother's stupid games!"

"Watch your mouth." He admonished harshly, and then took another drag of his cigar. "I obviously can't leave things to your mother, expecting them to execute accordingly."

I frowned.

"You're my only child, Relena, I'm sure you're aware of this."

Well, color me blind. I, wisely, held my tongue and nodded instead.

"And I'm sure you're aware of how things in our world work, don't you?"

I shifted in my seat, feeling a nervous edge filter through my limbs, materializing into the shaking of my fingers. I pressed my cold hands between my knees. "In what aspect are you referring to?"

"In the aspect of your engagement to Barton, of course. Personally I would have preferred Winner, but somehow, for reasons unfathomable to me and those only your mother would understand, she picked out Tristan's son instead."

At once—his words hadn't even finished climbing off his lips—I felt the sudden rush of heat and fear and anxiety seize my insides, making the hairs at the back of neck stand on end and goose-bumps rise on my arms and chest. I tried to conjure the bigger image, tried to condone their motives and justify them, tried to picture my role in the grander scheme of things, I even tried to picture Trowa, him knowing this all along, but I felt short of breath. I could hear my furious heartbeat, and I knew I was going to start hyperventilating any minute now. I tried to calm myself, tried to keep myself cool and collected, not wanting to let the imposing figure of my father chastise me for overreacting, for acting foolish and, quite frankly, childish for acting overly dramatic for matters I should've foreseeing long ago. For matter I should've expected.

And here I thought this had all being a foolish attempt to please the hearts of two bored, high-society women.

"Now, I understand you accepted, quite on your own, following your mother's vague plan; I'm not certain she's captured the idea as a whole, I'm sure she painted this as a whole philanthropic fantasy of her own to try to convince you to play along with and for her, if at least for a while, am I correct?" I could only nod, trying to gather all his words and match them up into comprehensible phrases for future examination.

"I have, at her request, waited this long to put these plans into motion. I've put up with your discourteous behavior, I allowed you to move out on your own, gave you the liberty to chose any career of your liking, and let you wander around to play your immoral games at your whim. I think, to put it quite frankly, I've been very patient and accommodating with your needs, Relena—Now it's time you play your part as the sole heiress to this family."

The impending doom that his words left on their wake wasn't for nothing.

- - - - -

I don't know how long I stayed there, even when my father left the room, smiling to himself, especially after bending over to kiss my temple in a show of fatherly appreciation that didn't suit him… at all.

Stupefaction—that's how I would call my current state. Disoriented, bewildered, astonished, stunned, shocked, confounded, in utter, unabashed awe were just a few synonyms of how stupidly bound I found myself.

I made my way outside, barely noticing the place was still packed, even after spending god-knows-how-long in the torture chamber I now call my father's study. I waited for the pre-arranged limousine at the curb in front of the house, not even bothering to grab my coat, just wishing to get the hell out of there as soon as possible.

The cold was just starting to seep into my skin when at last the shiny black limo pulled over and I scrambled in, not even giving the driver a chance to unbuckle his seatbelt. Imagine my surprise when I land on top of a whiskey-smelling body, scampering off and landing in a heap, all grace and whatnot, on the seat across.

Trowa's eyes, deep black in the darkness of the car, regarded me with an almost thoughtful expression, sweeping over my face and landing on my eyes, before flickering downward and then up again. My skin flushed at once, I could feel already the heat pouring all over from the tips of my toes, to the tips of my ears from the sheer lust in his gaze as his eyes raked over me wantonly, unabashedly, before propping his feet on either side of my body, against the edge of the seat I rested on, preventing me from moving or escaping.

"Where did you go?"

His voice was harsh and demanding, leaving no room for excuses except the truth. But that truth I still couldn't quite grasp in its enormity, and completely refusing to tell him all the same. I wasn't prepared to accept my father's ultimatum, at least not yet, and neither was I ready to recruit Trowa into 'the plans'.

"What's it to you?"

It was, obviously, the answer he was not expecting. He surged forward so suddenly I could only gasp, pushing back against the leather as if the space inside the confines of the limo could provide me much maneuverability.

The pressure of his kiss was unexpected, the force behind it, the power that led to alternative but involuntary submission was frightening. He pressed and pushed, and I could only sit there, unresponsive, shocked by the sheer brutality of his actions as he pressed one hand on my breast over my dress and pushed the other one into my coifed hair. Even more shocking was feeling his hands shoving my knees apart, his body settling between my parted limbs—it was enough to bring me back on full alert, placing my hands flat on the space below his clavicles and pushing him back mightily.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

We were both breathing harshly, our chests rising and falling in fast beats, unsynchronized and chaotic. He regarded me in drunken admiration, before those same eyes narrowed and almost seemed to glare.

"It's funny you ask; you should know."

I frowned while at the same time, righting my dress. "Oh, yeah? Didn't I tell you to keep your fucking hands off me?"

His taunting switched rapidly to anger, his words at once crude and biting. "So, you're telling me you can fuck just about anything with a dick on this fucking country, yet you can't even i pretend /i you like me?"

He knows… It was all I could think of. "What are you…?"

"Playacting won't work this time, Relena." He swiveled lightly when the car pulled a turn to the right, and it took him some fumbling to gather his balance in his inebriated state. "What else do I have to do? Tell me!"

He grabbed my wrist in a fierce grip, yanking me towards him in one swift, powerful pull. I felt my wrist pull in a painful way, but he didn't notice, too far-gone in his rage. He pulled me so close our noses touched, but it was equally easier to hear the venom leaving his lips in whispered taunts. "How much do I have to pay? After all that's happened, I don't think you believe in love or anything associating with it, do you? What does it take to make you open your legs? A few hundreds?" He shook his head, mockingly admonishing himself. "I bet you'd cost grands. Must be the good stuff, huh—"

This time, I could definitely hear the bone in my wrist crack and twist painfully as the force of my hand hit the side of his face in an echoing slap.

The pain was well worth it.

- - - - -

_  
To be continued…_

_- - - - -_

Okay, I'll post a review I got on BI by a dear friend and assiduous reader and my reply to her comments and shocked reaction to this chapter. I know most of you have been left feeling out on a limb, or don't understand Trowa's reaction, or Relena's parents' scheming, or certain other aspects that developed in this chapter… So, to save myself some redundant comments, I will post my explanation here so that you can have a general idea of how I view things and what I wanted to portray in this chapter.

Either way, if you still want have other questions, please, ask away! I'd be my pleasure to answer every one of them!

Don't forget to review! Please! Remember I'm a feedback whore! I need to know if you liked it or now, why you did or why the HELL you didn't (kidding!). Tell meeeeee!

- - - - -

The following review has been edited to keep it 'on topic'

"_Why have a family when you're going to be a autocratic patriarch? Family has a very specific meaning; and love is the epitome of it. If you're a patriarch, or matriarch with an attitude like Daddy's, then why the hell does he have a family in the first place? Relena should be a slave for all his tyrannical mindset and behavior!"_

Well, there are many logical possibilities. One, for example, people has different ways of loving. And we don't even have to go that far, let's say 'caring'. People care in different ways and measures. Perhaps you don't necessarily have to love someone, but you do respect them and honor their wishes. That's caring enough.

There are other cases, and here I know I'll sound cold-hearted—where parents just don't know. Perhaps it's not because they don't –love-, but more of an issue that they don't know how to. They think that just by spoiling their kids, by letting them do whatever they want, they're doing their jobs.

Now, boot that second scenario with a wealthy lifestyle and cold-blooded people who eat up appearance and attention… You get the Peacecrafts and Kara Barton. Bloodsuckers.

Relena's the heiress to their fortune; she's the only daughter so she gets to control their business and affairs once they retire. It's common knowledge, even if it's unpractical and antiquated, for families, especially European families, to prearrange marriages between two families (lots of things in common such as background, lifestyle, traditions, etc.; it be because of honor, tradition or financial convenience).

"_Monster. That made me crazier than Trowa's losing it. _

Relena--GET OUT OF THAT CAR!

Just leave. No matter who Trowa is--(my armpiece)--alarms should be going off everywhere!

Seriously! Get out of the limo, get out of the City, get out of the job. When that kind of treatment is shoved on you, just leave, babe. Based on Trowa's behavior, he deserves to be left hanging.

Now...if he cleans up his act or the whatnot forgive-me-i'm-on-my-knees, then maybe you can start speaking to him again.

Poor, poor Relena.

Trowa, YOU BETTER START YOUR OWN ROSE PLANTATION, CONSIDERING THE AMOUNT OF ROSES IT'LL TAKE TO GET HER TO EVEN LOOK AT YOU, AGAIN!"

But see… I thought his behavior was only logical. The downside when you write from one character's perspective is that it's difficult to know what all the other characters are feeling and thinking. I threw a few hints here and there about Trowa finding out Relena has slept with someone else.

Now, along the story, I've pictured and tried to convey that picture of Trowa being the ultimate alpha male in the pack. He's overconfident, arrogant, a player, rich and pompous… All the no-no's. Yet, he's sexy, charming, handsome, and a gentleman. He has good and bad, which lures women to him.

Then we have Relena, she's cold, and hardworking. She doesn't like getting involved, yet isn't too averse to having some fun now and then. Maybe she thinks she doesn't need someone by her side, an emotional link. It's pretty clear when she has that conversation with her mother on chapter one. Even her mother confirmed it. Perhaps Relena doesn't fall in love so easily, especially after she's used to men lusting after her. Then again, she doesn't give them the chance to really start something.

THEN, we have them, Relena and Trowa, two perfect human beings (in the physical sense). Trowa's been after Relena for almost five years, and she's never given them the chance. What we don't know for sure is why exactly Trowa is after her. Is it because he wants her? Just lust and pleasure? Or is it because he's really interested in her? Maybe he really likes her, enjoys her presence and all that jazz. But Relena's a hardhearted woman; she won't believe he really likes her given his past/history with women. She thinks she's just another date in Trowa's agenda.

At the beginning we see it could probably be true since he's so intense (make-out scene at her office, chapter four), and she's thinks he's after her with the sole purpose of satiating his libido (something she has said several times throughout the fic). But along the way, especially on chapter six, we see subtle changes in Trowa. We can see a genuine change in his demeanor, the things he said, and the way he acted around her. And Relena's starts to doubt herself and his motives. She doesn't want to be attracted to him because deep down, she still believes Trowa's plans are just to bed her and cast her aside as he's done with all his past conquests. She doesn't want to become another patch on Trowa's history.

Then the worst happened: Relena, after turning down Trowa that night after they left the restaurant (chapter six), and then fighting with him and being downright hostile during their 'date' early in chapter seven—she sleeps with some other guy (his identity is unimportant) and Trowa somehow finds out. Maybe he did go the next morning to pick Relena up for work and she saw him walking out (that's what I pictured when writing that part). Imagine the rage he must have felt to learn that she could sleep with a complete stranger (at least to him; he doesn't know if Relena know the guy or not) yet not him? Add to this a few too many drinks of whiskey and a temperamental guy, you get chaos.

Now, some people turn boresome, feeling depressed and things of the sort when they drink; others experience hyperactivity (me!), people who laugh and joke when they've drunk over their limit… and then we have the other group, those who act on their feelings, and can be quite hostile or violent when they get angry. Or jealous.

I do agree with your general dislike of Trowa's behavior… but I believe, really believe it's understandable. Imagine practically begging someone for something; let's say… a piece of chocolate. And you beg, day in, day out and then after a while… They give that chocolate to someone else; and when you ask for another piece, they tell you 'no'. Man, that sucks!

I suck at giving examples…

_"__Andrea, you did a good job of making Relena a strong person. Now she just needs to become a more substantial person--all that decadence is bad for her heart"_

Well, this story can't be all daisies and lilies. I've kept her strong throughout the story, even if I've made her more emotional, because as GG once said, she's only human. She has the right to –feel-. I don't think of Relena as unsubstantial, au contraire! She's strong-minded, hard working, and so emotionally complicated you'd wish she was more simplistic.

And as a small, miniscule tidbit, there are some points in this fic that come from personal reference or experience. So some things may sound or seem outrageous, but they do happen.

- - - - -

Well, that's it, people! I love you all for reading this, and waiting for me! I'll try to post more often. :huggles:


	8. The Downfall

**Her Wicked Ways**  
By Andrea  
Rated R / M  
Romance / Humor  
_Standard Disclaimers Apply_

**Author's Note:** Long time no see!! Lol! Chapter eight, ya'll!

**Warnings:** Swearing, angst, not proofread. I'll be posting the new version as soon as I GG sends it back.

Please review!

* * *

**  
Part 8**

Too tired to even move, I crashed into bed fully clothed and really not giving a damn about it. It was by some kind of miracle that I managed to squirm out of my clothes and duck under the covers in only my underwear and bra, wishing every single one of tonight's memories would just vanish and fade away. I was shocked—or perhaps that wasn't a big enough word to describe my current state of utter disbelief at tonight's developments.

The worst part was that I couldn't even find it in my heart to blame Trowa, because I knew he was right. He was right about everything he'd said; every single accusation had hit bull's eye.

I suppose what they say is true: no matter how big the lies, the truth is always harsher. And it did hurt to have all those truths thrown back at me, it hurt to have my past rubbed in my face—but it was his face, the disappointment and hurt washing across his eyes which hurt the most.

I think I've always known…

* * *

Sunday passed by in a blur; I woke up a quarter pass noon, my wrist throbbing painfully from the events of the previous night, the dull pain only further worsening my constant state of guilt and self-consciousness. 

By three in the afternoon, after a hectic rush through the hospital halls, I was back at my apartment, sitting on my kitchen's breakfast table, idly perusing through a magazine, with absolutely nothing to do and no plans for the night. My cell-phone lay discarded somewhere in my purse, probably out of battery; there was nothing good on TV, the magazine sucked, not that I knew much of home décor… I was bored. Truly, undeniably bored.

Deciding that if I didn't go out of this damned apartment I would go nuts, I grabbed my purse and headed out, no actual destination in mind. Imagine my shock when I fling the door open—shorts, flip flops and a white tank top—and come face to face with none other than Quatre Winner. He was, naturally, dressed in utter perfection: khakis, a soft-looking white button-down shirt and brown leather shoes.

I realized then, that even though I had given mostly all access and power to Dorothy, I hadn't talked to him in over a week, probably since the auction, and I instantly grew nervous.

"Is there something wrong?"

He leaned casually against the door frame, crossing his arms over his well-developed chest. He shrugged, a lock of brilliant blond hair falling over his right eye. "Not really; I was just dying of boredom and decided to go out, wondering if my favorite fisher-woman was available for coffee, and perhaps dinner later on."

I laughed at him, readjusting my purse on my shoulder. "Well, I probably should change—"

His hand reached out to grab my forearm, bringing me closer to him. "What happened?"

I tried withdrawing my arm from his grasp, but he was holding me firmly, his blue-green eyes studying the white cast. "Nothing… I just had an accident last night. There's no need to worry about it." I smiled for his benefit, and felt relief wash over me when his features loosened and he smiled. "So, let me go change; I'll just be a minute."

"Nah, come on. You look good in anything. Lock up and let's get going, I'm hungry."

"Aye, sir!"

Yes, it did feel good to laugh.

* * *

"It's liberating." I said, munching on a cream cheese-covered bagel. 

We were sitting on an outdoor café in the middle of Central Park; it was a little past five in the afternoon, the place crowded with couples and families either eating or striding casually while their kids and pets ran wild.

He laughed, leaning back smoothly in his chair. "What is?"

"I don't think I've ever gone out dressed like this, pigged out on cream cheese and bagels, halfway through a fourth cup of coffee and having no actual destination or plans in mind."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head at me. "It's good to be spontaneous now and then; makes life a little more interesting."

I leaned my elbows on the table, setting my cup down. "And you know all about spontaneity, right?"

He was silent for a moment or two, idly swishing the remains of his coffee around in his cup. He shrugged one shoulder after a moment, reaching to take my left hand in his, his thumb playing with my engagement ring. His eyes locked with mine, and even if I had wanted to, I couldn't seem to take my eyes off his. I wanted to take my hand back, but I didn't want to hurt him; I also didn't want to give him the wrong impression… Oh, lord…

"Valentine's coming up." He said slowly, his left dimple pronounced by his half smile. "I want you to go out with me. Just the two of us."

"You really are spontaneous." Relena, you twit! What are you saying! "I mean… what?"

He laughed, his thumb now caressing my knuckles. "You heard me."

"I can't. You know I'm engaged." This time, I did remove my hand from his entrancing touch, fighting the urge to rub the spot where he had been idly running his finger across. "Mr. Winner—"

"Come on, Relena… Just Quatre, please; I'm begging you to call me Quatre."

"I can't. I'm sorry… But you know I can't."

One blond eyebrow up, his lips furrowing into a grim line. "You can't call me Quatre, or you can't accept my proposal?"

"Neither." I rose to my feet, reaching for my purse. "I'm sorry… But you know I can't."

He didn't rise with me, he didn't do anything; instead he just leaned back in his chair, gazing up at me with a look I couldn't distinguish. "If the circumstances had been any different, would you have given me the chance?"

I was frozen in my place, neither wanting to leave nor wanting to stay. "I honestly don't know." My hand was throbbing, and the pain instantly brought the stupid man-whore to my mind. "Things are the way they are, that's all I can say, Mr. Winner. I can't promise you anything, and I can't give you what you want."

"How do you know what I want? What do I want, Relena?"

Dazedly, I realized he was turning the tables around, endlessly bouncing the ball back to my side of the court. "What do you want? What do I want? I don't know… I just know that I can't give you what you're asking. It wouldn't—"

_He_ was sitting a few tables down from us, Krista McKenzie looking every ounce the sophisticated beauty that she was. What was going on?!

"I have to go." I said quickly before Quatre followed my gaze. I could only imagine the humiliation if he ever saw my 'fiancé' idly drinking coffee and laughing to his heart's content with his arm slung around his former girlfriend.

"Relena—" Quatre stood up, his hand reaching out as if to stop my hasty escape.

"My hand hurts… And I'm tired. If you'll excuse me."

What a moronic excuse. What a moron I was.

* * *

That Monday morning I reached the office forty five minutes after my usual time; hailing a cab had been a pain, and the morning drizzle hadn't helped a bit. My hair was starting to frizz, my coat was hanging limply around me, and my make-up, I could feel, was starting to cake. Simply perfect. 

I yearned for a cup of very strong coffee, but I soon learned that Meredith had decided to skip work due to some cold she had caught during the weekend. That left me with two options: go to the common room where the coffee maker was stored and make myself my own coffee and thus risking the chance of running into Trowa, or simply suck it up and stay in the safety of my office, where I would definitely be kept from seeing, hearing or even smelling Trowa Barton.

Option two sounded awfully good.

I tidied myself up as best I could in my adjoining bathroom, pulling my hair up in a ponytail to try to keep the wild locks in check. I fixed my make up with some fumbling; smudged mascara is a bitch, especially if it's waterproof.

There was a knock on my door a quarter to noon and I seriously considered not answering. The downside of not having your assistant was that there wasn't anyone to screen your calls or visits. Loyal proof of this was the countless times my phone had rang in a span of three hours.

Logically, Trowa would never have the decency to knock on anyone's door, he'd simply barge in and settle himself in whichever available place he'd find in his path, uninvited and unwanted. Logically, it couldn't be Trowa at the door. I realized how stupid I was acting, hiding in my office, afraid of the phone and the door. What the hell was going on with me? I was acting like a schizophrenic lunatic.

I promptly reached for the door.

White tulips and baby pink gardenias. A dozen each. No card. Not a single card. The delivery man was all smiles and giddiness as he handed me the colossal arrangement, stating what a lucky girl I was. I eyed his purple-pink shirt with baby blue flowers imprint and his tight, bell-bottomed jeans with amusement, but didn't say anything, tipping him generously and sending him on his merry way.

Twenty minutes and another knock later, I received a dozen sterling roses, their silvery-purple coloring meshing beautifully with the white and pink of the tulips and gardenias. No card, either.

By a quarter to one, my office resembled more a flower shop than an actual office; Hilde had sent a beautiful arrangement of baby blooms, apparently of every single flower available; the card reading: 'To the greatest love of my life, you know 'friend' just doesn't cut it. Love, Hilde.'

Tristan had sent a basket of _Bomboniere_ sweets, and Belgian and Swiss chocolates, with confetti and streamers that resembled more a Mardi Gras gift than a Valentine's one.

I tried to keep myself from feeling disappointed when by a quarter to six, I hadn't heard from Trowa. I knew it wasn't okay to feel sad and down over the fact, but I couldn't help it when looking at my presents, not a single one of them had his name. Perhaps the gardenias or the sterling roses were his doing?

Never before had I felt like this over Valentine's Day; I've never had a date, a real boyfriend to take me out to dinner and a movie, and I'd never thought much of it, seeing as I considered Valentine's Day to be too personal to take just anybody out. Yet…

Deciding to leave the flowers behind, I took my basket of candies and left my office, hailing a cab, trying my best to ignore the random couples making out or holding hands. Another February 14th to greet me by my lonely self, in my equally lonely apartment as I stuff my mouth with ridiculously fattening food. Just lovely.

I stopped by the nearest movie rental store just a block from my apartment, looking at the large selection of titles in stock. In the past it would have been Hilde and me, laughing and joking as we took four films each, never able to decide what to watch. I stopped myself from sighing pathetically at my morose thoughts.

_Two Weeks Notice, While You Were Sleeping,_ and _28 Days_. Sandra Bullock was just my kind of girl when I was feeling down. Not to mention that I harbored a secret crush for Bill Pullman.

I juggled my rentals' bag, my purse and basket as the elevator chimed its arrival at my floor, balancing my baggage as I surfed through my purse for my apartment's keys—only to stop short at the sight of Trowa standing before my door, a somber expression lining his features. A thousands thoughts crossed my mind, not a single one of them coherent enough to be uttered, leaving me to simply stand there and stare at him numbly.

He didn't speak either—for long seconds we stood there, a few feet's distance between us, staring at each other, unable to process thought, unusual guilt and angry accusations slamming against my insides.

"I didn't come here to fight." He offered as a pacifier, I imagined, lifting his hands up as if to guard me off.

Opening the door turned out to be a harder task than I imagined and he reached to take the basket from me, looking at the candies with critical, narrowed eyes.

I finally managed to open the door, throwing my keys onto the little table nearby, trying to ignore his distinctive presence, as usual, overpowering the suddenly miniscule apartment. My hand was throbbing painfully when I reached to drop the rental's bag on the living room couch, the small cast making my skin itch like crazy. I've been on half a mind all day long trying to ignore the annoying sensation, but now, with nothing to distract me, the pain was all the more severe.

It also didn't help that the reason I was experiencing this in the first place was standing right behind me.

Turning around to fix a glare on the silent man, I crossed my arms over my chest as I waited for him to say something. Relativity in its primetime, it seemed we'd been standing in the same position for over an hour, and I was ready to snap at him to get the hell out of my apartment when his gaze dropped to my chest, or more exactly, to my crossed arms. The white cast was hard to ignore, and I suddenly felt bad when a sudden rush of pleasure shot through me at the guilt written all over his face.

Honest to god, I didn't think about, it was as involuntary as breathing, but when he stepped forward, his hand outstretched as if to comfort me, I took an equal step back, away from him. Call it fear, anger, rejection, whatever you want, but I stepped back, and suddenly the guilt turned to pain and I could have slapped myself across the face.

It was obvious he was not going to break the silence, it seemed he was too clogged with emotions to form any rational sentence, I know by the look on his face. I'm pleased to realize that I've learned to somehow read this enigma of a man, this man who's always eluded me in the most essential of elements.

"Happy Valentine's Day." I offered when the silence had been stretched too thin, the void in sound starting to drive me insane.

A whisper of a smile echoed on his lips, but before he could reply, I beat him to the race and killed any sentiment from his would-be-words. "I saw you with Krista yesterday."

Somehow, I don't know how or when it happened, the lines bordering our arrangement had been deluded to such a point I was unable to tell what was real and what not. The boundaries had been breached, feelings had been added where there should have been none at all; but most importantly, it was a two-way train wreck that apparently had been doomed to collide since the very beginning.

The mild accusation hung heavily in the space between us, the soft-spoken words hiding a meaning too harsh for simplicities.

He was shaking his head even before any words could spill from his lips, and I was suddenly angry all over again at the vulnerability in his gaze. What was he trying to do? Win me over by playing the victim?

"What happened that night?"

How many times had I contemplated that same question? Over and over, trying to decide, trying to find a way out and still manage to leave unscathed. I had debated on whether telling him about my father's ultimatum would be a bad idea or not, but right now, I couldn't muster the strength to care.

"I had a nice little chat with my father."

Suddenly too tired for my legs to keep me upright for much longer, I reached for the nearest place to sit, locating a soft, plush stool beside the loveseat. I massaged the space between my brows, the long absent pounding returning full force, and I had to squint a bit at the not-so-harsh lights coming from the foyer.

"What happened?" Soft, so soft his voice, almost melodic as if he wanted to merge with my furniture.

Shrugging, I dropped my head into my hands, fighting the outrageous urge to cry. Cry because I was drained and tired and pathetic and so, so utterly lonely. "It doesn't really matter; it's of no importance anymore."

It's his turn to shake his head, unconsciously running a hand through his unkempt hair. "Why do you always do that? Pretend it isn't important when you're obviously fucking upset?"

I smiled—I couldn't help it really. He'd always been so rough and crude, but somehow, someway, he always managed to be sweet and caring and comforting.

"It wouldn't be fair." I replied without really giving him the answer. "Just as it isn't fair I ask you about Krista when I—"

"Don't bring that up." He snapped harshly, and I could see his right hand pressed into a tight fist.

Suddenly, I remembered right at the beginning when I said I would give us a six-month's time to pull this off before the 'break-up'… Now it all just sounded laughable. I was so naïve. Ever since the beginning, we both knew this would be dangerous. And it was just a little over a month into this and looking at where we stood, with me sitting on the verge of tears and he with his fists clenched so tight I feared he'd snap his bones, I wanted to laugh so hard at the irony of it all… Laugh so hard I choked.

How could I accuse him of cheating when I'd slept with a complete stranger not even a week ago? And what right did I have to feel this way when we agreed it was allowed to see other people on the side?

The touch of his rough hand on my cheek startled me and I looked up to see him kneeling before me. For a crazy second I pictured him holding my hand, somewhere in a different scenario under different circumstances, placing a velvet box on my upturned hand, a promise in his eyes and smile.

But he wasn't holding my hand, and I wasn't holding his ring, and we weren't smiling either.

And suddenly, like a lightning flash so bright I'd have to shut my eyes to keep the light from hurting me, I realized I love him.

As easy as that. Well, not as easy, but the point was there.

And I knew, oh, god I knew, what I had to do.

Leaning forward, I closed the gap between us just like that night at the seafood restaurant—had that really been two weeks ago?—and pressed my lips to his, trying to savor his taste and memorize it so I would never forget.

I took pleasure at the surprise written across his boyishly handsome features, running my fingers through his soft hair to settle my hands around his neck, my thumbs placed right over his pulse. His heartbeat was strong and fast, and I found comfort in the steady rhythm… enough to gather my guts.

"I'm announcing the break-up tomorrow."

My tone was final, and so were my words.

* * *

I fell asleep to the sound of Hugh Grant telling Sandra Bullock about how they were going to keep the community center because it was something he'd promised her he'd do… I'd always loved that movie. It was so simplistic and romantic… So unlike everything in my life. 

Sighing, I reached for the remote on the coffee table and turned the DVD player off; those blue screens had always made me dizzy. I tried to ignore Trowa's scent still lingering in the air, aftershave and cologne, permeating my very existence, the urge to curse the wretched man tapping at my skull.

The phone rang… It was so weird hearing it ring since it rarely ever did; I'm usually never home. I debated on whether answering or not, gazing at the clock to notice that it was almost four in the morning. No wonder I was tired; it has been six hours since Trowa left. Before I even had the chance to move, the ringing died, and just when I was about cuddle up to sleep again, my cell phone started ringing instead.

With a growl of frustration, I shoved myself out of the couch, stepping and tripping unceremoniously over the remote control I had previously discarded, and answering the phone with a curse.

"What?"

There was a loud music booming in the background, but Trowa's voice was unmistakable. Particularly the state of his not-so-articulate words.

_"I can't accept that!"_

I sighed, rubbing my temple when my migraine blossomed to full throttle. "Trowa, we discussed this already."

_"No!_You_ discussed it! I'm coming over." _

"Trowa…"

But there was nothing there except a dial tone.

* * *

So pathetic… It was all I could think as I stood before my door, four-twenty in the morning, debating on whether I should surrender to the pounding or simply let the dreaded man knock himself into a stupor, thus risking the chance of alerting Mrs. Stiles and having her call the cops. It also didn't help that he was yelling at the top of his lungs for me to open the 'goddamned door'. 

I was surprised though, when suddenly he stopped the yelling and knocking simultaneously, only to hear a noise when he settled his weight against the door, probably sitting on the floor.

"It's funny, you know?" His voice was muffled by the thick paneling, but it was still clear enough to hear.

How did he know I was standing here? "What is?"

"I am." He stopped for a moment, as if he was taking some time to consider his words before he started again. "I don't know what's come over me; I'm not usually like this."

"And how are you usually?"

He chuckled huskily, a sudden thump on the door that I imagined was his head and I knew for sure he was sitting on the carpeted hallway floor. "An ass. A selfish bastard. A chauvinist. Arrogant…"

I couldn't help but smile at his self-analysis. "And how are you now?"

"Still an ass; still a selfish bastard; still a chauvinistic, arrogant fool."

And this time, I did laugh. I settled on the floor, my back to the door, feeling happy and at ease… for once.

"Funny, ah?" He asked after a moment.

"Very… But what's the difference now?"

"The difference now is that I care… and I don't like it."

I closed my eyes at his words; part of me wanting him to continue, part of my wanting him stop.

"When you first proposed we should date just to keep our mothers off our backs… I'll be honest and tell you I was pleased." He chuckled softly, his words low and smooth through the wood. "I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to finally get you."

"Get inside my pants; that's what you mean!" The asshole! That was his—

"Yes… I wanted to fuck you so badly it hurt. I couldn't stand knowing I could get close to you and not have you." He laughed, and the sound was so frivolous, so heart wrenching it left me cold. "You were always that goal for me, Relena… The only person I couldn't have. Everyday I went to work… And all I could think of was to crush your body to mine and fuck you against the wall. I think you're the only woman I've fucked on my desk, against the window, on my office chair, on the carpet floor… every single space in my office, available or not…"

His crude words were starting to get to me, setting my blood on fire and I found myself to be sexually aroused by them. But I stayed quiet, letting him continue to see where he was getting at…

"And then… my mother tells me she has this wonderful person I should meet and whatnot, and I know it's another of her matchmaking attempts… I always stop her cold before she can arrange anything…" He stopped and laughed, and I could so imagine him shaking his head at his thoughts. "Imagine my shock when my new girlfriend-to-be was you…"

But for the love of… "You knew from the beginning she was planning this?!"

"No… I knew she wanted me to date you… the whole engagement thing was your mother's own doing. I had nothing to do with it."

Whatever I was feeling before had, by now, dissipated into full-blown anger. For a crazy moment I realized we were having this very overdue conversation through a door between us, with him sitting in a public hallway for the entire world to overhear… But for the moment, I really couldn't give a shit. "And now you're going to tell me you're just the victim in this whole fiasco."

He was silent for such a long moment that I thought he'd just up and left. I was just about to get up and open the door to see for myself when he spoke up again.

"I never expected this."

I waited… waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. I swear I wanted to wring his neck and just demand he tell me everything at once! Not bits and pieces now and then that drove me fucking insane with impatience. "Never expected what?!" I couldn't help but snap.

"I never expected to care… To actually care about things…"

He wasn't making any sense. "I'm sorry, Trowa, but this time you're going to have to elaborate."

I hated his silence, hated this space between words and revelations, hated this impatience and curiosity… Hated the way he made me feel. Hated knowing I loved him. God… I loved him. Maybe I've always loved him, maybe that's why I've always been so…afraid of letting him get near me. Bastard.

"After that day on the boat… after our argument… I was so angry… You've always managed to make me feel like a jerk and so fucking vulnerable... I went out and got drunk. I was so pissed off at you, because I knew I was getting too attached and you've always been such a bitch…"

"Now, wait a minute, you piece of—"

"And then I come here to tell you all these thoughts that were driving me half mad, wanting… I don't know… to punish you, to make you hurt… And I see you with that fucking prick all over you… kissing you, touching you…"

I could only close my eyes at his words. I knew it; I knew he had somehow found out, that was why he was acting so cold at my mother's party. I wanted to tell him it had all been a mistake, a foolish mistake I wanted to take back… But I couldn't muster the words.

"And somewhere between that day I first saw you standing behind my father and now, I fell for you bad… and that hurts even worse than imagining you fucking some asshole after one too many glasses of whiskey."

_"You're still in business or are you planning on going back to business after all this is over?" _

_"Neither."_

His words haunted me, and for some reason I've always known. I've always known the way he felt about me, almost since this whole fiasco started.

_"Why? Why the fuck don't you like me? You can screw half the guys living on this damned island, yet you can't even like me?"_

And I liked him, even back them. And it was mutual.

All the more reason for me to keep quiet. I suddenly felt like I was living in a Shakespearean tragedy, the classic romance story of two lovers who are destined to be apart.

If it had been a day sooner, I would have taken the risk and given it my all. But I couldn't use him as my father had succinctly ordered me to. I realized then, the true meaning of loving too much, loving enough to let them go.

I felt sick and tired and I wanted to cry so hard… I made a mental note of crying myself into my pillow as soon as he left. Yes, that would help.

"I can't, Trowa. Whatever you're asking of me, I just can't." I heard the same noise again, his head hitting the wood, but this time it was in quick succession, one, two, three, four times until he stopped.

"Don't do it, Relena."

I couldn't help but smile at the irony of it all. It hurt… it really did hurt. "Go back to Krista, Trowa. Just… leave me alone."

I heard a rustling sound and I knew he was gone.

It really did hurt.

* * *

The sun was already out, but I hadn't slept a bit. It was almost seven and I couldn't bring myself to stand up and get ready for work. I was tired, exhausted after such an extremely emotional night…. 

I wanted to scream when my phone started ringing, and I almost let it ring, but I've never been able to ignore it, not knowing if the person on the other side has an emergency of some sort. Then again, who would call me for any kind of emergency?

"Hello?"

_"Relena Peacecraft, what have you done?!"_

I groaned. Perfect, just what I needed. "What, mother? Isn't it too early to be harassing me?"

_"You broke up. Why did you break up? What did you do?"_

Why did she automatically deduce it was my fault? And how the fuck did she know? "Who told you?"

_"Who told me?!"_ She was getting pretty hysterical. _"The entire nation knows! David Letterman knows, Oprah knows, Jay Leno, Dr Phil— everybody knows!!"_

That brought me up cold. "H-how?"

_"Read the damned paper."_ And she slammed the phone on me.

He did it. And this time, I did cry.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	9. The Twisted Heart

**Her Wicked Ways**  
By Andrea  
Rated M/R  
Romance / Humor  
_Standard Disclaimers Apply_

**Author's Note:** There's a special author's note at the end of this chapter.

**Warnings:** Not proofread.

* * *

**Part 9**

The tears I had been holding in for the better part of the night spilled out as soon as I hung up the phone after my mother's abrupt parting. I was tired and restless, and quite surprisingly, heartbroken as well. I kept hearing the soft thumping of Trowa's head against my door, the husky murmur of his voice threading through my conscience, seducing me, convincing me. And it hurt. It hurt, hurt, hurt. It fucking ripped me apart, and I wanted to be fine. I wanted to smile and laugh and say to hell with this. To hell with us!

Except there never had been an 'us' to begin with. Not really. This was exactly why I never got into a relationship. Feelings and emotions were too complicated; they tangled reasons and common sense. It made you stupid and mindless. It broke your heart beyond repair.

How could one man, and not even one that spectacular, weave his way so intricately into my life seemingly overnight? Was it really that easy? Was _I_ really that easy? And I guess I wanted to feel at least a little bit happy; isn't there a saying that goes _it's better to have loved and lost, than not have loved at all_? It hurt too much to cry to be thankful. Too much anger and resentment and damned hurt inside me to really want to smile.

I wanted to hate him. But I was too much of a coward.

It had been a life-threatening experience trying to get to work, the stupid building seemed to have moved up a couple of blocks from its supposed address, as it took me longer than forever to reach my office. Even the fucking cabby had thrown me sad-looking gazes through the rear-view mirror, as if somehow trying to convey how sorry he was that my utterly pathetic ass had been dumped.

Asshole.

This one had to be the longest days of my entire existence. Not a single minute was spent in a semblance of peace, call it phone calls, e-mails, looks, or whispered words, I was the target of everyone's pity. And I was pathetic, sitting at my desk, staring blankly at the flowers sitting on my coffee table, their girly colors making me smile, and forever wondering who'd sent them. I imagined Trowa had to send at least one of those two arrangements. Either way, it wasn't likely that I was ever going to find out.

I promptly reached for the phone.

* * *

"…I'm cranky, and tired, and I swear I want to grab his head and smash it so hard against the wall it… breaks. His head, not the wall."

Billy raised an eyebrow by the end of my tirade, scribbling on the pad resting on her lap. I wonder if at the end of a patient's therapy, they're allowed to read it. I'll have to ask.

"You've always had a lot of repressed anger in you. I think this is a great topic to just let it all out."

I glared at her. "I'm not in the mood for your 'breathe in, breathe out' therapy."

She chuckled, shaking her head as if I'd just said the most amusing thing in the world. "What are you going to do now?"

How many times had I asked myself that very same question? "The thing that gets to me the most is all the people trying to be sympathetic when they know shit about our situation. There were reporters outside my apartment building this morning, as if I was some kind of celebrity. Don't they have anyone else to bug?"

"What about your mother? Has she called you, yet?"

I snorted, crossing my arms as I slumped back on the couch, the soft cushions groaning beneath me. "But of course, first thing in the morning."

Billy leaned forward in her seat, pushing her reading glasses higher on her nose bridge. "And?"

"She slammed the phone on me, naturally. She's the one who's been pushing me—I can't believe that bastard knew from the very beginning they were planning this. That selfish asshole, he could've warned me."

She looked at me a long minute, just sitting there in a contemplative manner, before she moved to take her glasses off to put them on the table beside her, along with the pad. "I will tell you this, not as your psychologist, but as a friend. Maybe things happen for a reason."

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Relena, listen. You're in love with the man. I understand this is all new to you, but it's not something to be afraid of. This whole ordeal has given you the opportunity to get to know him, and he you. Maybe things are a little more complicated now, but why ruin something that's good for you? After what you've told me, he obviously cares about you, holds a genuine affection towards you, beyond sex and superficial attachments."

"He and I are not made for long term relationships, Billy. We're both too independent and too… spontaneous for a serious attachment; I saw him with his ex-girlfriend having lunch on Sunday for god's sake!" Not to mention I had slept with a complete stranger not a week ago. But she didn't need to know that.

"Communication is key, Relena."

Communication, my ass. "And what about my father? Do you really think I could just marry Trowa, knowing he's just a tool in my father's plans? I'm not that shallow to marry him just so that I can secure my thrust-fund."

And Billy just shook her head, because really, what else was there to do?

* * *

It was remarkable how quickly he moved on; only four weeks ago he had announced our break-up, turning me into a martyr, turning my own mother against me. It had been only four weeks—a month!—, as I'd wallowed in my misery, drowned myself in work, as I turned into something I could barely recognize and yet—

The asshole had the audacity of proposing to Krista Fuck-Me Mackenzie, and, if rumors were correct, given they ran like wildfire, spreading through the social networks even before it hit the news, apparently he had shown up late to their date with a massive bouquet of sterling roses. Yes, fucking, goddamned asshole. It was like a fish-slap to the face, giving the bitch the same kind of flower he had given me for Valentine's. What a way to find out, huh?

I was in shock; all this time wondering and just torturing myself and now that moron was engaged to _her_ of all people?! This called for drastic measures.

It didn't take long to arrange all my paperwork, call the airline to book a flight, call the hotel to book a room, and send an e-mail to Tristan saying I was going away on vacation. It also didn't take long and much effort to convince Quatre to go away with me to Port Elizabeth. A business trip of sorts, not that anyone needed to know that.

Certainly it would be a great opportunity to supervise the construction site, meet with O'Hara for that long over-due contract revision and still manage some downtime to just sit back and enjoy South Africa's sunny coast.

Dorothy proved to be an obstacle, not that I hadn't seen that one coming, as she had insisted on booking her own flight and joining us to help supervise the project. And honestly, she had all the reasons to demand all this as she had been the one in charge of this project in my stead, yet letting her come was just not an option.

Of course, Quatre had been more than ecstatic about this trip, sounding as surprised as he was thrilled with the prospect of going all the way to South Africa, _just us two_ as he had put it. Somewhere in my heart I knew that what I was doing was wrong, taking advantage of Quatre's attraction to me just so I could get back at Trowa, yet not feeling wrong enough to let my conscience take over. The asshole had humiliated me in front of everyone and I was going to show him just how good I rolled over and played dead. With Quatre.

* * *

There was something almost godlike about Quatre Winner; a combination of assets, from the top of his sunshine hair, to his aristocratic face, all the way down to his lean, hard body. The high cheekbones, the pronounced jaw-line, the set of his broad shoulders, even the hypnotizing stare of his aquamarine eyes. Everything about him… it felt good. It sat well on my very bruised ego to know that a man of Quatre Winner's caliber was attracted to me.

One week turned into two, and then into three; meeting early for breakfast, lunching together at whichever restaurant or café we happened to come across, and often had dinner near the pier, where this little seaside restaurant boasted a cellar with the best goddamn wine collection I had ever known.

Seldom I thought of Trowa and Krista's engagement, diving myself fully into the site, the hiring and Quatre. Well, at least that's what I tried telling myself. During our first week, we got a visit from a representative from Winchester Corporation, one of the leading hotel chains in the world, pitching an offer to acquire a managing contract with Winner, Ltd., seventy percent of property net revenue, thirty percent corporate management net gain. It was a sound offer, catchy and pretentious, and the major reason why our stay had prolonged so much. Two weeks of negotiations and we ended with an eighty percent property gain vs. a twenty percent corporate profit.

O'Hara would turn CEO based on-property to supervise on behalf of Quatre seeing as he wouldn't always be in South Africa, while Winchester Corp. would provide the personnel to manage the different executive-level positions in the different departments such as Sales and Marketing, Finance, Engineering, Loss Prevention, Front Desk, Housekeeping, Operations, Food & Beverage, etc., including a co-CEO who would be permanently on-property as General Manager on behalf of Winchester Corp.

"It's set, then." Wufei Chang, the rep, said stonily as he gathered the scattered documents, shaking hands with Leon McNamara, Winner, Ltd.'s lawyer and then with Quatre and myself. He was definitely a man of very few words.

"Why don't you stay and enjoy dinner with us, Mr. Chang?" One would never think this man had just signed a contract worth well over a few million dollars; at least, one would never be able to tell by the way he lounged so casually on his chair, one leg crossed over the other and one strong elbow resting comfortably on the top of his chair's backrest.

"I'd rather not, thank you for the offer, anyway. Still have a few phone calls to make before the day's over." With that be bowed respectfully, gave a curt nod and turned to leave.

"And I better leave as well. My flight leaves early tomorrow morning and I still need to pack. I'll see you back home." Leon said warmly, his sixty-three year old body sagging tiredly with his heavy sigh.

"Get some rest! You're starting to look your age!" Quatre called loudly at Leon's retreating back, making the older man give a hearty laugh.

"Behave, boy!" But he was already too far away for us to hear the rest of his words. But it went something along the lines of 'like father, like son'.

Quatre laughed anyway, apparently used to these antics. "He used to work for my dad, has known me since I was but a baby in diapers."

I smiled at the warmth radiating from his voice, that kind of warmth that can only surface with remembrance. "Don't tell me he changed your diapers?"

He laughed again, and I was left to grasp at the tatters of the women's hearts around us as his face alighted with laughter and his handsome features looked even more stunning. "Among other things."

I gathered the heavy, leather-bound binder containing the copy of the signed contract, among other documents detailing the specifics of the deal, snapping it shut resolutely. "I can't believe you managed an extra ten percent profit gain in less than week—"

"It's Friday night."

His eyes regarded me with such intensity it made my face burn almost self-consciously. "I know."

He chuckled huskily, taking my hand in his and bending low to whisper a kiss across my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine. "Let's go out and celebrate", he commanded softly.

It was as dangerous as it was enthralling, this whole mess I had created. Was I really up to playing with this man's feelings? I kept telling myself that it was only business, I kept trying to convince myself that getting back at Trowa was justification enough to string Quatre along.

I knew I was playing with fire, but I've always been up for a good game. Then again…

Who the fuck was Krista McKenzie compared to Quatre Raberba Winner?

* * *

We made it to the hotel in less than ten minutes after we left the club, and I stumbled into his room gracelessly, giggling like a schoolgirl after just having her first kiss. He laughed along, grabbing my arm to help steady me, preventing me from face-diving into the carpeted floor. I felt the buzz from the wine gurgle in my sight, making the room spin somewhat before righting itself when Quatre pulled me upright and wrapped a strong arm around my waist, steadying me once again.

He led me further into his suite, and the large white bed was pure ambrosia as I collapsed on it, laughing all the while as if he'd been dancing the Irish jig in a tutu. I laid back, shaking my head for no particular reason, enjoying as the ceiling wavered, collapsing into my peripheral and then zooming up to its original location. I could feel the sizzling of excitement churning inside me, I was tired, exhausted, but also hyped up, something inside me coiling in anticipation.

I was distracted as Quatre walked into the room, already missing his suit jacket, the white shirt still crisp-looking despite the long day. He moved to undo his tie with one hand, while he walked to the windows to close the blinds with the other. He looked rugged and dangerous, like those popular bad boys all the girls want and never get. I couldn't stop smiling, for some reason, and I couldn't explain why his eyes looked so dark; perhaps it was the lightning, perhaps I was a little too drunk, but when he moved to stand at the foot of the bed, I couldn't help but feel drawn to the swirling navy of their depths.

And I laughed. Hard and long and unrestrained.

Chuckling along, he sat on the bed beside my legs, shaking his head as he regarded me with amused eyes. "You're so drunk."

"I'm not! What are you doing?" I forced myself onto my elbows; trying to get a better view of his bent back, seemingly busy removing my shoes.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" His voice sounded muffled, and I dimly wondered if it was because of his bent-over position or simply because I was wasted. Not that it mattered.

When he was done—don't really know why it took him so long; aren't stilettos easy to take off?—he turned around to regard me, his stare too intense for me to comprehend at the moment, so I let myself lay back on the bed heavily, running a hand across my eyes to try and clear my vision. The feeling of his hand running up my bare leg made goose bumps break out on my skin, and I found it rather difficult to breathe through my nose alone, panting instead to keep myself from suffocating from the sheer wave of sensation that swept through me from the single touch.

A kiss landed on my knee. It'd been so long since the last time anyone had kissed or touched me with such undiluted tenderness; all my past encounters had always been derived from the single-minded purpose of reaching completion and satisfying a simple physiological need, devoid of caring and gentleness.

And I was speechless. I moved to grab a fistful of the duvet with my right hand, my left moving down my body to weave in his golden hair. His mouth moved up to my thigh, trailing his tongue in little teasing circles —hot and smooth and wet—, kissing my skin until he reached the hem of my skirt, and when I thought he would move the fabric out of the way, he rearranged his body on the bed to pull himself on top of me, nudging my chin with his nose in a gentle prod.

"Beautiful." He breathed; his lips moving against mine, the contact a whisper of a touch.

I turned my head to the side to grant him better access to my neck, his lips fastening to my throat in a moist, open-mouthed kiss, the edge of his teeth dragging down to the juncture of my shoulder. It was powerful, passionate, mind-numbing, and all I could do was try and catch my breath under his skillful ministrations.

"Quatre…" I felt the moan reverberate through my chest even before it became a sound, arching my back and pressing my aching breasts into his shirt. I felt his lips turn up into a smile against my collarbone before laving his tongue on the depression where the bone met skin. And his thumb, I arched my back again, drawing little circles against my clothed nipple—madly, intrusively—wild and passionate and insane.

The edge of his teeth ran along my left collarbone, outlining the structure to obscene perfection. But it wasn't until his hand reached down to start unbuttoning my suit jacket, that I stopped him, my breathing ragged, labored compared to his almost annoyingly collected self. "Wait."

His hand stopped on the second button but didn't move away, his head coming up to regard me silently.

God, he was gorgeous.

His hair was askew from when my hand had run through it, and its disheveled state gave him an almost boyish look, as cute as it was sexy. There was a knowing look in his eyes, even as his mouth set in a tight, sad smile. "You're really in love with him, aren't you?"

How could he—lying between my parted legs and after having almost devoured my neck—still be so analytical?

"I don't… I don't know."

He sighed heavily, resting his head on my heaving chest, as if a burden had suddenly landed on his back, weighing him down.

"I'm sorry."

Laughing softly, he raised his head to regard me tenderly, his hand coming up to run a thumb along my cheekbone. I felt like crying and dying, because there was no hurt in his eyes, only understanding, and I wanted it to hurt. For some reason, having him _know_ cemented my feelings for Trowa, undeniably, irrefutably.

"You don't need to apologize. It should be me saying 'I'm sorry'."

When he made to get up, I wrapped my legs around his hips, needing him to stay, wanting his comforting presence to reassure… I didn't understand why, exactly, only that I needed him to stay, regardless of how selfish it was of me. "Stay. Please."

We moved further up the bed, fully clothed and really not caring. He threaded his arm under my back and rolled me into his embrace and I went willingly, cuddling to him as if he were an oversized plush toy.

Comfort zone.

"He's an asshole." He said after several minutes had passed and I was beginning to fall asleep.

I made a noise in the back of my throat, not really agreeing, but not denying it either. "I'm a bitch."

"Perhaps."

"Hey!"

Slapping my hand on his chest, he recoiled with a loud laugh, pulling me back down beside him. "Kidding!" His laughter dimmed out to soft chuckling, and I felt the sound reverberate throughout his ribcage beneath my ear. "At least I got you to a first name basis. Finally."

"Ha, ha."

I stayed up long after he fell asleep.

* * *

The first thing that came to my mind the moment I became awake, was the disgusting taste of sleep on my tongue. I had drunk over seven vodka tonics and smoked lots of ciggies the night before and hadn't even washed my teeth before going to bed. In fact, I couldn't even remember when I had fallen asleep. I did remember, however, with startling clarity, what had happened between Quatre and I, and that thought alone prevented me from opening my eyes completely.

I could feel the warmth that came from my right and the light that tried to peek through my lids, telling me it was well into the morning; it didn't surprise me, though, that I couldn't feel the presence of Quatre lying beside me on his place from the night before. Why would that surprise me? He knew I was using him. He was a clever man; of course he knew he would be the 'rebound guy'.

Tentatively, I opened my eyes, surveying the room, trying to ignore the little disappointed twitch in my gut with the confirmation that he was, indeed, gone. I lost my balance when I tried to get up; the sheets, that I guessed Quatre had covered me with, were tangled messily around my legs, pulling tautly when I tried to lower a foot to the floor. And that's exactly how Quatre found me; sprawled gracelessly on the floor, my business skirt—wrinkled beyond repair might I add—riding high on my thighs, and my hair falling in fuzzy ringlets around my face.

He was carrying a shiny black tray, and the smell of toast and coffee suddenly permeating the room made my mouth water. Lord, I was starving.

"I'm hungry," I croaked, still on the floor. I didn't get up, and neither did he lend a hand.

Grinning, I watched as he sat on the bed and set the tray in the center, expectantly looking down at me. "You look terrible."

It wasn't that funny. Really, it wasn't; but I couldn't help it. I barked out in laughter, falling on my back to the soft, carpeted floor, keeping my eyes on his alluring figure, clad in a sexy, midnight blue shirt with white pinstripes and white trousers. Eye candy. Yummy-yum-yum. He had his customary half-smile, that one that pronounced his right dimple starkly on the sharp planes of his cheek and jaw; his mischievous eyes shining with mirth and something dark.

That smirk reminded me of Trowa's.

Gag me, please. "What's that?" I asked, shifting my legs, untangling the dark red sheet. I wanted to smile when his eyes dipped to my legs, but he was subtle, a gentleman first, as he reached a hand over and helped me up.

"Breakfast… or brunch. It's almost noon."

I acknowledged his words with a smile, walking to the bathroom to freshen up as best as I could, given the fact that this wasn't my room and my toiletries lay in my bag two rooms down. I purposely left the door open as I cleaned my mouth with his toothpaste, rubbing furiously at my tongue with my index finger and along my teeth, trying to get rid of the nauseous taste of morning breath. The bed was in a straight line across the mirror, and I could clearly see his face as he stared at my ass. Quatre Winner was a well-bred, high society man, but he was still just a man.

Giving him the show he was looking for, I bent over the sink to rinse my mouth off the toothpaste. That would do. Drying my face and hands with the small white towel at my right, the thought that I had never spent a morning with a man in my life so far crossed my mind. It gave me the jitters, but oddly enough, Quatre made me feel comfortable, like I was able to just be myself without feeling self-conscious.

Laying half back on the bed, with his hands behind him supporting his weight, he shot me a knowing smile, letting me know he knew I'd seen him staring at me through the mirror. His current position was on purpose, as it tightened the crisp shirt across his chest, letting his lean muscles on full, mouth-watering display. Gods, and here I thought Trowa was a Casanova. Where did all those gullible, weak-minded men I use to screw went to? Playing mind games with men like Quatre or Trowa was definitely exhausting. Weakening.

Why did I still think of Trowa? Why couldn't I just forget him? His words still echoed in my memories, how he had professed… I didn't need it. The emotional rollercoaster of being in a serious relationship was something I just wasn't ready for. It was emotional baggage. A burden I could do without. And what if my dad took my inheritance away?

Well, maybe I did care a little about that, but it wasn't like I was going to starve to death without it, right? Plus, not even my twisted sense of ethics would allow me to marry a man for money… even if it, technically, was my own money.

But… the thought that—something I realized the next morning of our breakup—he had said the things he said, done the things he did… without knowing about my dad's ultimatum kept my mind tittering on the precarious edge of emotional uncertainty. His feelings really were authentic. I just couldn't cope with that. I'm not ready to fall in love. I refuse. Period.

It didn't make it hurt any less, though.

"Are you okay?" Quatre still laid in that same position and I realized I'd been standing well over a minute staring at this chest, lost in thought.

Smiling, I went to sit beside him, gently as to not disturb the contents in the tray. "You called for room service? How sweet."

He chuckled shortly, making it sound almost like a snort, before he reached to grab a toast, slathering it faintly with strawberry jam while I took a bite of a Gouda cheese roll with an olive on top.

"I have to pack my things and get ready, our flight leaves in three hours." I had to go. The room had suddenly become stuffy.

Knowingly, his eyes narrowed suspiciously, but it was only for a moment before the look cleared and he was his sunshine self again. I wasn't able to read his expression in that moment, but somehow my words had upset him.

"I apologize for the rush—"

He cut me off, cleanly, smoothly. "Don't call me '_Mr. Winner'_ again."

I managed to laugh through the tense moment, the laid back atmosphere from earlier, suddenly feeling charged with unspoken truths. "I wasn't going to. I'll see you at the lobby in an hour." I moved to the bedroom door, and stopped to add for good measure, "Quatre."

Smiling genuinely, his voice cut short my escape as he rose from the bed and moved with a catlike grace that left me almost breathless, and without noticing, he backed me up against the door, his arms encasing me in his warmth as his hands settled on the door behind me, on either side of my waist.

My hand was suddenly against his chest, and neither of us was sure if it was to guard him off or to encourage him further. "_Carmen_ opens tomorrow night. Pick you up at seven-thirty?" But it wasn't a question. It was a challenge.

And I smiled. "I'll be ready at seven."

* * *

_To be continued…_

**Special Author's Note:** I wanted to thank you all for the continuous support; the countless emails, PMs, reviews (Inda; krysteL.a; Ella; The Al Bhed Princess; Midgar; Waterfade; Death'sFlowerGarden; lixangel; Serina Lijtvorg; Athene Saile; Tank; Lady Kali' Barton; blissful trinity; kawiineko4eva; Frozen Tears; Sissi; Bryony; Satin Elegance; I.Plead.Ignorance; Inconnu; Nera Merald; Rach, smile and be happy; Airen2; graywords-girl; Ipanema—I'm sorry if I left someone out!!) All your words of support and caring and love made me smile. I need to apologize for my lack of response; I hadn't expected getting back on track would be so exhausting. I've done a wonderful recovery, and now that things are back to normal in my life, I finally got around writing another chapter of HWW. It's progressing quite well. I can't promise I'll update very often, but I'll try my best. That I do promise.

Thank you, thank you, thank you all. I love you, guys!!


	10. The Comedown

**Her Wicked Ways  
**By Andrea Sinisterra  
Rated M  
Romance / Humor  
_Standard Disclaimers Apply_

**Author's Note : **Thank you for sticking around and waiting for me to get back on track. I love you all _so_ dearly for your continued support.

Here's the next installment. I want to finish _Her Wicked Ways_ this year; I don't think there should be many chapters remaining… perhaps just two more and that should be it. Also, I've reread the whole thing and there are so many errors, they should be called horrors. If I get around to it, I want to tackle this thing again and edit and rewrite and repost it… Plans, plans, plans… Anyway, hope you like this chappie, I had tons of fun writing it. I did cackle evilly on a part or two… Don't forget to review!

**Warnings:** Not proofread.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

So.

So… I've been wishing lately that I'd read all those romance novels Hilde used to send me when we were in university, so that I would know how to proceed if I ever found myself stuck in a weird, I-love-you-I-hate-you ménage trois.

It's like a weird triangle with odd angles, which suddenly shifts into a square. Girl A likes Guy A and Guy B. Guy A wants Girl A just for sex, while Guy B's intentions are still dubious. Guy A hates Guy B, but Girl A's been spending too much time with Guy B, so Guy A hates Girl A's guts. Secretly, though, Guy A loves Girl A. Enter Girl B. Guy A's using Girl B to get back at Girl A. Girl A is using Guy B to get back at Guy A, but Guy B doesn't seem to mind much, while Girl B is... well, oblivious. Point is that Guy A is an ass.

I don't know… I was never good at geometry.

Blissful ignorance, I always say, is a way of life not all of us have the pleasure to experience. Spending time with Quatre Winner was a game I was not sure I was up to playing. Nights at the opera, extravagant dinners and concert tickets. NFL VIP seats, fundraisers, state luncheons and golf meets… all in all, I was enjoying the lifestyle I've shunned out for years. And why wouldn't I? I had never enjoyed myself more in these past weeks with Quatre, than I have in the company of any other man. He was the perfect gentleman, the perfect dinner partner, the perfect escort… he was the perfect friend.

I would have loved to say a perfect roll in the hay, too, but that was too dangerous a territory. Lately, his advances had been all the more intimate and familiar: sitting silent in the movie theatre while he plays with my hair; his hand on my knee as we have lunch together in the middle of the day; cozy in the back of his limo on the days he comes to pick me up after work…Then there are the times when he takes me out to dinner. Nothing fancy nor particularly romantic, but it's always an experience of subtle intimacy. His looks ardent, his voice breathy, his words passionate, his touch familiar. Quatre Raberba Winner is a lady killer and he knows and enjoys it.

Sometimes I find it easy to laugh; he's sexy and charming, the ultimate alpha male through and through. Yet there are times when I have to make myself smile at his quips and flattery, feeling trapped, as if l were longing for something more. Missing someone else. I am a masochist of the highest caliber, playing with fire in a cotton dress.

My mother… my dearest mother, who, to this day in time, still does not understand she has her own life to live, calls me daily, several times a day, or just shows up at my apartment whenever the mood strikes her. It's like she has a matchmaking license to kill. My wallet is overflowing with cards of eligible, high-crust bachelors my mother has introduced me to in the past couple of weeks.

_Just in case there's a fallout with that dear man, Mr. Winner. You must understand, Relena, you're not the most reliable person when it comes to relationships. A little boost never hurts!_

My mother has completely forgotten all about Trowa Barton. It's like she deleted the tape as soon as the breakup spilled to the media. Her eyes have dollar signs in them; Quatre has completely eradicated Trowa from her mind with his words, charm and pedigree.

I don't know why I would mind; Quatre is a much better catch than Trowa. He treats me with respect and he seems to genuinely care for me. I have never felt like this before: seemingly becoming the world to someone else. He hasn't said anything, but his eyes and the way he treats me say more than a thousand words ever would. He's caring and attentive. He has a curious habit of always knowing what I want or what I am going to say. In the past few months, Quatre Winner has sneakily crawled under my skin, and I don't know how I should feel about it.

He's Prince Charming, and I am the unwilling damsel in distress.

Then why am I not happy?

Stupid, arrogant, son of a bitch. I still can't seem to get rid of the picture of Stupid Krista hanging like a fucking perch on Trowa's arm. Everything always revolves around that wretched man. It turned out to be harder than I thought, seeing Trowa at work after his confession that fateful night months ago. Watching him traipsing around town with Stupid Krista Mackenzie; the rumor mill already running wild with talks of wedding plans and whatnot was even worse.

I was a coward.

I had a small hunch that all this flirting he had going on with Krista was just a ruse. I want to believe that he's doing all this to get back at me, but I'm too proud to say or do anything about it. Trowa treats me with malice, taunting me and criticizing me any chance he gets. He calls me a bitch and a man-eater, I tell him he just wants women to drop to their knees and open their mouths. He tells me to go to hell, I tell him to fuck off.

However… sometimes when it's just the two of us left at the office, the hour growing late and we coincide in the break-room, he hesitates to come in, or I start thinking that if I leave, it would appear as if I were running off. Sometimes he comes near me as I'm making myself a cup of coffee, his shirt sleeve grazing my arm, and I feel the tremors shoot up my spine and settle in my bones like an old memory. Sometimes his breath quickens, sometimes his hands shake. Sometimes I can't breathe. But every time he turns to look at me—his eyes a bright, bright green—his mouth softening, and I'm yearning and dying inside, it seems the whole world has stopped and its sole focus is the feverish heat of his skin sinking and fusing with mine.

Then we start breathing and go our separate ways.

"_I'm a bad person," _I said to my therapist two days ago. _"Look at me! Stringing along a wonderful man who-who… and Trowa! Why do I still want him?"_

"_Communication is the key foundation to every relationship, Relena."_

Why, indeed. Talk to Quatre and tell him… what? Besides, I've been hiding from him for the past couple of days. I don't even know what I want. I'm attracted to him, yes. Why wouldn't I?

Or talk to Trowa. What would I tell _him_? We said everything we needed to say. Or more like he said everything he needed to say while I just listened. Maybe I could just… be childish and not talk to either of them ever again—very immature of me, sure, but excellent conciliatory solution for the salvation and upkeep of my sanity. I mean, my life was much better before this whole mess started. A little empty, but safe.

Too late I realize that I've spent the past two days moping, not really doing anything to make my life less miserable and more like I really do have a purpose.

My phone rings, and rings and rings. Seventh missed call from Quatre. The wonders of caller ID and my highly successful screening capacity.

Don't get me wrong, we had fun; he's always been charming and gallant and intelligent, but the guilt at using him has gone from low simmering to an overlapping boil since that night, after sealing the contract with Winchester Corporation. I suppose it's never too late for a bitch to grow some conscience. And while growing that conscience, apparently, I've also developed a heart.

* * *

Hilde was dressed in rich corduroy made of deep violet velvet. The little number was strapless and reached to mid thigh. On top, a short, black cardigan to balance the outfit. Sexy, nude multi-wrap crop boots finished her ensemble. She looked hot and chic and ready to party. I, on the other hand, with my trashy, neon pink sweatpants with a suspicious hole somewhere on my ass, a NYU t-shirt that had seen better days and a knot of hair beyond any hope of untangling, looked more like I was embarking on a housekeeping weekend spree.

Would you accuse me of being rude if I felt a little on the defensive when I get a critical perusal from head to toe from my stunning best friend? "What the hell do you want?"

She looked me up and down _again_, a critical analysis. "What the hell happened to you?"

Bruised and offended, but more at being disrupted than insulted, I crossed my arms over my chest, shrugging my shoulders at her. "What the hell happened to _you_? And where the hell are you going?"

"What the hell do you mean, where the hell I'm going? Hell!" She laughed and pushed me inside, kicking my apartment door shut with her boot. "I've been trying to reach you for days! It's Duo's birthday and we're having a huge party at Chloe! I've left thousands of messages on your voicemail, sent you millions of emails each and everyone falling short on being death threats and nothing from you!"

Some time later, as I was finishing up the last touches to my make-up, donned in my get-well-soon Christian Louboutin turquoise peep-toe pumps and a mouthwatering one-shouldered indigo Chanel silk dress sent to my attention by none other than Karl Lagerfeld himself (yes, I did giggle when I got it), I realized that I'd been acting like a complete sissy, making half-assed attempts in avoiding Trowa when all I really wanted was to pound Krista a pretty shiner and hijack the bastard and ride him into kingdom come.

And yes, pun totally intended.

God, how do women deal with this kind of shit?

An hour later, I found myself downing my third Grey Goose on the rocks, sitting primly and staring at the glass wall behind the bar like the sweet little loser I was.

Another hour and I could barely even figure out if my nail polish was pink or red. Man, was I wasted. I'd spent the last one-hundred-and-thirty-something minutes staring at myself in the sparkling mirror, and at Krista making a fool of herself, trying to super-glue herself to an obviously distracted Trowa, somewhere in the vicinity behind me.

My skin crawled with self-awareness, prickling all over with hyper sensitive goosebumps and a rush of something delicious between my legs as his gaze insistently kept searching mine through the mirror. Asking me. Inviting. Sinfully, deliciously dangerous.

And I was a James Bond to danger. The slut in me relished. Ate up the attention.

Another glass of vodka landed before me on the counter, the abrupt desire to be completely and utterly sober hitting me with the force of the realization at what I had already subconsciously decided to do. My ass was off the chair and I was already halfway across the VIP section, before my brain even decided to take action.

I was on autopilot.

I was a whore.

And I wanted him with the very last fiber of my being.

To hell with this. I was tired of wanting and hiding and pretending. I was sick of being me, of cheating and lying and feeling guilty and doing absolutely nothing about it.

Alerts buzzing in the back of my head, I knew I wanted to worry about hurting Quatre. I knew—even as I was only a couple of feet from my breakdown—that things would never be the same again. _I _would never be the same. It didn't matter if Trowa rejected me—and I wouldn't be surprised if he did—I knew I would never love Quatre as I would Trowa. That no man, no matter how many years from now, would ever make me feel this crazy, desperate and eager as I do for Trowa.

I was absolutely, one-hundred percent tired of living my life. I was absolutely, one-hundred percent jealous of Krista and I was going to do something about it.

And so I walked up to Trowa and I lived and died in the surprise that flickered across his face. He was sitting on a high stool that brought him level to my height—his chest was hot as burning coals against my breasts, his hair wild and soft on my hands, and Krista's gasp of outrage a complete turn-on that made me smile even as I sealed his lips to mine. Breathing was difficult, and I melted into him, and though his arms didn't come up to hold me, I could still feel that hot brand of his erection against my thigh. I settled my weight into him, my thighs pressing into the cradle of his hips, and on his gasp of erotic shock, I touched his tongue with mine. To me, it all seemed hours upon hours as I kissed him. Licking at his mouth, luscious strokes; his mouth slack and soft under mine. Velvet. His tongue like smoldering velvet, his breath hot and rushed as it hit my cheeks. Oh god, I could kiss him forever. It felt like forever.

I ventured my eyes open, and I was struck stupid when I met the vivid green envy of his stare and the confusion and surprise that still lingered in its depth. I was the intrepid, secretly scared-shitless schoolgirl all over again; suddenly unsure in the onslaught of my desire. And it was with a final peck on the corner of his soft mouth that I pulled back, a sudden silence, long and overbearing in the wake of our—my?—passion. Dimly, I wondered why Krista had not said anything to stop us. I wondered why Hilde kept silent. I wondered why Trowa kept staring at me as if I'd grown several additional heads. I wondered if my heart was suddenly going to go skipping away like rocks on a pond, with how fast it was beating. Sweat lingered in my hands and armpits, and I was nervous with the knowledge that I was going to be rejected.

It was written plainly on his face, while the bass pounded like a second heartbeat.

Shit you not, I really was another person. I had become a stranger stuck in this old skin. I was disgusted at myself, hatred and revulsion at this new me and her audacious guts to even dare to cry. Oh, yes. Struck stupid once again, I was now the high-school geek at her prom dance, the everlasting wallflower pining for the ever-popular Prom King. And like the disgusting coward I had become, I turned around and fled with the proverbial tail between my legs.

Man… was I ever drunk.

The swirling void in my stomach had me rushing to the restroom as if the very hounds of death were behind me. I heard Krista screaming something or the other, her voice so shrill it could even be heard over the music and overall chaos. I wish I hadn't turned around just then, but then again, I've been wishing for many, many things lately. Too many things without giving anything in return. Reason why I wasn't surprise to see karma slap me in the face in the form of Trowa gathering Krista in a tender embrace, consoling her as she cried on his shoulder.

Tears burned in my throat and my eyes hurt and stung—he looked at me for a moment over Krista's shoulder, his eyes somber before hiding his face in her neck and hair.

In my rush to escape or hide or simply _die_, I bumped into a waiter carrying a tray with drinks. My complete humiliation was already a fait accompli before the colorful drinks splashed onto my dress and shoes. Now… it was brutal annihilation. I was massacred in the middle of New York's most elite club, in front of society's crème de la crème, all while the waiter, bless his soul, dabbed at my clothes and apologized and begged for forgiveness. All while people whispered and smiled and laughed. All while I stood there like some stupid fool, doing nothing, hiding nothing.

My eyes stung and my jaw ached, but through the humiliation and embarrassment and heartache, I laughed. A heart-wrenching, earth-stopping, one-of-a-kind kind of laugh. I felt sorry for myself. I laughed and laughed and cried and then laughed some more, laughed so hard people started laughing along with me, as if my humiliation was the most amusing, entertaining thing they had ever witnessed. And maybe it was. If someone had told me one year ago I would find myself in this state, in this particular scenario, I would have told them to fuck off. Never would I have allowed myself to be _this_ pathetic.

A hand on my arm snapped me out of my self-pity. "What the fuck is _wrong _with you?" But Hilde was already dragging me away, breaking through the semi-circle of onlookers, to the less populated area of the ladies' room. The place was blissfully empty, and Hilde wasted no time in locking us in.

"You're pathetic, Relena!"

A glass was shoved into my hands and the hard, cold vodka was ambrosia. I downed it in a single gulp. "Oh, fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" I dragged myself to the sink, splashing cold water on my face, trying to bring myself out of the stupor. I kissed Trowa in front of a multitude and got rejected. I wanted to feel consoled with the fact that he didn't push me away while I kissed him, even if he never responded to it in the first place. Yeah… Still. Rejected. In front of everyone. "Oh, my god."

More cold water. I felt like I had just lost some part of myself, the sort of feeling you get when somebody you love dies. Empty, aching, desolate. I wanted to cry.

"You look like death rolled over."

"_Thank you_, Hilde. I _really_ needed that pep talk."

Hilde handed me a fresh face towel, and I dried myself and tried my best to fix what was left of my make-up. I needed to bring myself back up to shape. It was dreadful… all of it. If I really focused, I almost looked like a drowned clown.

There was a single, hard knock on the door and I was about to ask for a minute of privacy when Trowa's voice rang through. "Relena, open up." God, his voice. He sounded angry. He chose Krista. He really chose Krista.

"I'm fucking tired of this fucking drama. This ends tonight." And before I could say anything, Hilde marched like a good little soldier, flung the door wide open and gave him the finger. "Leave her the fuck alone, you understand?"

"Hilde—" But it's nearly impossible trying to reason with a German when she's in a temper. Take my word on it.

"No, Relena. I'm tired of this drama! You haven't been yourself since this ass—Hey!"

Trowa unceremoniously pushed her aside, and his imposing presence seemed to shrink the already small room to an asphyxiating size. I took a few steps back, somehow feeling like a cornered animal, and dimly I thought that maybe I was still reeling from before, because the old me would never let some guy corner me. Oh, yes. I was definitely not in control. Then again, neither was Trowa just _some guy_. Fucking asshole.

I ought to hate him. Give me a day or two.

"Trowa, please. Leave." I said in the hardest, toughest voice I could muster, somehow though, I still sounded like a fucking sissy. "I want you out of my life. I don't want to see you ever again." _I want you to die. I want to murder my father, slowly and painfully. But most of all, I want to forget you ever existed._

"We work in the same firm."

Well, thank you for pointing out the obvious. "Don't be an asshole." I love you.

Hilde walked around, putting her imposing five-foot-eleven-inches body between Trowa and me, a little human barricade that had me smiling despite the circumstances. "You rejected her in front of half of Manhattan out there. You've done enough harm to last us a lifetime. Why don't you get the hell out of here and take your fucking lap dog with you and just _die_?"

Frowning, Trowa's head tilted to one side, as if trying to figure if the woman standing before him was real or just a comical figment of his imagination. Oh, goodness… I was unbinding slowly at the seams, unraveling and disarmed and so utterly drunk. I'd never thought I would love someone like this. In the past, it all had seemed so easy and impersonal. Take you pick of any random guy, fuck him and kiss him _hasta la vista_. Figured, the second I decided to fall for someone it would be with such an astounding depth of feeling—figured he wouldn't want me back.

I started laughing again. Suddenly feeling desperate and bordering on hysterical. "I'm sorry! This is just hilarious. I need to get out of here. I'm drunk and tired and my feet are killing me and I _really_ don't want to deal with you right now." When Hilde made to follow, I put my hand up to stop her. "You stay. This is Duo's party and you need to be here for him. I'm taking a cab home."

Trowa, who hadn't said much since he stepped into the room, grabbed my arm as I went passed him, turning me around to face him at the same time Hilde started protesting about not wanting to stay and keeping me company.

In case I decided to kill myself? Not likely, but a bottle of tequila sounded wonderful.

"Relena. We need to talk. You took me by surprise and didn't even give me a chance to react!"

His eyes were so green. Pale, luminescent green. God, I loved him. This arrogant, egotistical and imperfect jerk. I wanted to punch him. Break something. "You're looking murderous right now, princess. If you want to hit me, please give me a head's up first, would you?"

"I'm going home." Tired and defeated, but most of all, drunk, I left, promising Hilde I would call her tomorrow, sometime after noon if and when I woke up from the awesome drink-fest I would be embarking on in a few minutes. Trowa followed me all the way outside, apologizing and explaining something or the other, but I really wasn't paying him much attention. My toes hurt. Really hurt. And I needed to start the mourning process for my dress. I wondered how furious my mother would be when she's seen my pictures on the papers tomorrow. Would she be furious, disgusted or simply mad? I could spend all of tomorrow watching Pill Bullman's movies. I did love Bill. Bill? Ah ha… Pullman. Oh, whatever.

"Are you even listening to me? You've been standing there staring at your feet for more than five minutes!"

I wiggled my toes. I needed that taxi to take me home, too, so I could start my date with Jose Cuervo. "My toes hurt and I'm dating Jose Cuervo."

"Jesus." Why do people resort to religion when—He spoke something to the driver and I saw them both nod. "Get in."

Oh, taxi. "Taxi. Taxi's are good. I need you to take me home, sir. Somewhere around Lexington Avenue. Hey! Get your own taxi, this one's mine!"

"Move over, damnit! This is _my_ cab, but I'm feeling generous so I'm sharing it with you. So, shut up and deal. When did you get so drunk, anyway?"

"Why the hell do you care _anyway_? Aren't you worried Stupid Krista's going to leave with someone else?" Man… now that I'm finally sitting down, I was really starting to see the world spin around me. Sleepy, too.

"Didn't I tell you?" He said; his voice gruff but amused, a little faraway, too. His hand was suddenly on my knee closest to him, our thighs rubbing against each other and I suddenly realized how close together we were sitting from the other. "We broke up. This morning. After I told her I was in love with you."

The cabby was looking at us from the rearview mirror, and there was a suspicious slanting of his eyes, as if he were smiling. I promptly slapped Trowa's hand off my knee, feeling like a schoolgirl doing something improper. He talked too much. And he really had balls! Touching me like I was his property! I stifled a jaw-popping yawn, my eyes tearing up a bit. My date with JC was in jeopardy. I was faaaaaling asleep.

"Anyway," Trowa continued after I didn't reply; what was he saying, anyway? He really talked too much. I told him so, but he didn't seem to hear me. "I came over tonight because I knew you would be here. I wanted a last chance to explain things to you. And to tell you that I'm damned tired of playing these fucking games and that I'm jealous to my bones of Winner. I want you with me and I want to be with you, Relena. I know this…"

But I was already dozing off and didn't remember much.

* * *

The next moment I opened my eyes, the world was upside down. Literally. Only upside to this was the spectacular view of Trowa's lovely, sexy ass. Was that my carpet?

"There you go." He sounded entirely too upbeat about dumping me like a trash bag on my bed.

Off went my shoes and jewelry, landing haphazardly on the floor and bedside table. I then reached around my back to the zipper and hooks that held the dress together, but after fussing around it for a moment or two, I just gave up. Tomorrow I would worry and torture myself about my brazen and stupid behavior tonight, but right then, my major worry was about not sleeping in my Chanel dress (no matter if it was covered with a triple layer of Vodka and cranberry juice). "Help me out of this."

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes dancing between the bed under me and the door, as if visualizing how fast he could make it out of here if I suddenly decided to attack him. As if. "Please. I'm not going to jump you or anything, but I absolutely refuse to sleep in this dress." Kneeling on the bed, I turned around and showed him the two silver hooks at my nape and the broad zipper running all the way from the middle to my lower back. "I'm so tired."

"I bet." He said conversationally, "I got a client who believes someone's trying to buy them out by illegally acquiring stocks under several trust funds and societies, but all of them owned by the same corporation. A very lunatic conspiracy, might I add. Guy calls me every single day and night, with stories and theories of who these people might be. He believes this guy in his board of directors—"

He sounded so nervous. I was starting to get depressed, the more I heard him talk, the more I wanted to know about him and his life and his clients and everything else. I wanted it so badly I could almost taste it. I could also see him holding Krista just after I kissed him and he rejected me, burying his face in her neck and smelling her hair. "You can go now." I need him to leave. I needed him to leave me alone and give me time to put myself back together so I could face him again on Monday and have a slight chance of at least _pretending_ to be over him and not make a further fool of myself.

I held my dress to my front and got off the bed, intending to show him to the door, but I never made it that far. In a single second, a small fraction of a second, his hand seized my neck at the same time my dress hit the floor. In another fraction, a minimal but very consequential fraction, his lips hit mine in a bruising kiss that had me reeling back from the pain of his teeth jabbing my lower lip. I would like to say I held my ground and showed absolute will power and real decorum by pushing him away and not letting him kiss me, but the real truth is that I was _dying _to drown in his kiss. He was brutal in his onslaught. Tender and passionate and so overwhelming I almost wept.

He tasted and drank and demanded more and more—more than I should give—his tongue riding an adventurous foray and mine meeting his in a guilty encounter. His arm was a band of steel around my waist, bending me backwards with the force of his kiss; the hand initially on my neck moving upwards to cradle the back of my head, sifting through my hair and making me tingle from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. God… I couldn't breathe. There was moaning and sighing and whispered words uttered, coaxing and begging and pleading. His, mine, ours. I wanted him so much—

"I can't. _We _can't. Stop, Relena. Stop!" _Why?_—was all that kept running through my head. Why did he torture me like this? Why did I let him? Why? Why? Why? "Christ… do you have any idea of how much I want you? I want to kiss you all over, touch you, taste you." His hands running up my sides, sliding the backs of his fingers lightly over my left breast and I arched my back wantonly, trying to press the aching tips into his hands.

What's going on? I didn't understand him. "I'm confused."

Trowa laughed and my toes curled at the sound. God, I had it bad. When did it get _this_ bad, anyway? "You're drunk, Relena. Truly wasted. We should—"

"Oh, god! You-you turned me down in front of everyone! You let me make a fool of myself and _then_ you made out with that stupid—"

"I don't want to fight. Get some sleep and we'll talk tomorrow."

"Do not _dare_ to patronize me—"

Eyes crinkling with laughter and looking ten years younger, he went down on one knee in front of me and pressed his forehead and nose into my naked stomach, breathing and kissing, making skin tingle and my knees buckle. "I want to marry you. I want you for the rest of my life; just you and no one else. After we talk tomorrow and we've both said our pieces, you will marry me. As for now," kissing my hand, he got up and held me close. "Goodnight and sweet dreams. I'll come by bright and early."

His liquid kiss shattered my defenses, hard and abrupt as the sound of my apartment door closing behind him. I never would have guessed this night would end this way. I couldn't seem to erase the smile off my face, or simply forget his parting words. Dressed in just my underwear, I crawled into bed and under my covers, and closed my eyes refusing to think about anything but sleep.

Fucking asshole. Always with the last word.

* * *

_To be continued..._


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